Consort
by femme4jack
Summary: The Matrix of Leadership contained the wisdom of all the ages.  It was also cruel. Who or what can help Optimus Prime resist its darker appetites and the voices within it that would better be forgotten?
1. Prologue

**Title:** Consort - Prologue  
><strong>Author:<strong> Femme4jack  
><strong>Rating<strong>: R (this chapter), NC-17 overall  
><strong>Continuity:<strong> AU Fusion of G1 - Bayverse - IDW - and others (in other words I'm picking and choosing stuff I like and making slag up)  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Optimus Prime, Jazz, Ironhide, Mirage, eventually Optimus Prime/Mirage **Summary:** The Matrix of Leadership contained the wisdom of all the ages. It was also cruel.  
><strong>Notes:<strong>Prologue for story being written for White Aster for her winning bid on the Help Somalia Auction on livejournal. Folks who are reading my other WIPs, I haven't given them up, but I need to focus for a time on the two charity Auction stories for the lovely people who were kind enough to bid on them.

At White Aster's request, this story will hold some elements in common with Claiming the Dark Singer, a WIP on hiatus I coauthored with Gatekat (current story is not the same storyverse as that WIP). This story is linked on my profile. White Aster wanted a Prime who struggles with desires that in another age would have been his right, claiming Mirage as a consort.

**Warnings:** Story will eventually contain violence, dubcon elements, explicit intimacy (sticky, tactile, field, spark, pnp), dreams with very dark themes (snuff, noncon, violence), and eventually, fluff. Please heed individual chapter warnings.

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><p>It was often said that the all of the wisdom of the ages was contained in the Matrix of Leadership.<p>

What wasn't said was that the Matrix was also cruel.

When Cybertronians chanted the hallowed names, they sang of seven. The great ones. The deliverers who were the Voices of Primus: Primon, Prima, Nova, Guardian, Zeta, Sentinel, and now, Optimus. But the current bearer of the Matrix knew there had been many others. Designations deleted from the annals of history, to be forgotten and never sung of again. Like the great Primes, their sentient memories spoke from the Matrix. And not only their memories, but their ambitions and their appetites. And oh how they longed to live again, through the new vessel who bore them.

Sometimes the great ones who were celebrated in verse were no better.

There was a reason, Optimus now understood, why power had been divided and the position of Lord High Protector had been created. A Prime with a spark that was strong enough to bear the Matrix, was not a being one wanted with an army behind him to enforce his will should he be led by the Matrix's appetites rather than its wisdom. The Lord High Protector was charged with defending Cybertron against all of its enemies, including the Prime, if he became dark.

"The voices will eventually quiet," Sentinel's Lord High Protector, Alpha Trion, had promised the dock worker who had spent his first orns as Prime writhing in agony as the Matrix wove its symbiotic connection, expanding and changing his frame accompanied by the seductive whispers and promises of pleasure and power that would make all the pain worth it. "It is your spark that makes you a Prime, not the Matrix. It gives you strength and wisdom, yes, but the goodness within your own spark will quiet the old ones who should no longer speak. They will test you at first, see how far they can push you, try to turn you into their servant rather than serving you. Pass through the fire of their forge and you will truly be great."

Orion Pax had been a peaceful mech, kind sparked, patient, with an inner nobility of one who knew a hard orn's labor and the simple joys of refueling and friendship at the end of it. Alpha Trion had recognized his spark as being that of a Prime the first time he touched his damaged shell. When he merged with the spark, as was his duty, he found one far more noble than the Prime he had served, though, the Lord High Protector had to wonder if that was simply because Orion's spark had not yet touched the Matrix. Orion, Alpha Trion hoped, was strong enough, and good enough, to access the Matrix's power and wisdom without falling prey to it, or becoming apathetic and cynical as Sentinal had. And Optimus had proven Alpha Trion correct. Even with an army behind him, Optimus had led with selflessness, compassion, and justice rather than using his power to feed the desires of his predecessors.

That did not mean it was easy for him. Or that the voices were quiet.

* * *

><p><em>Optimus roared as his spark swelled in something like an overload. The power surge filled his limbs with new strength as his great spear, glowing bright with the energy of his own spark, sliced yet again through the thick armor into the internals of his foe, then deep into the wall beyond. The other mech twitched feebly, and Optimus grunted in disdain. Too easy. Far too easy. This slag heap did not deserve to bear the prize in his chest, and Optimus had proven it in front of the council, who had silently watched since he had entered to contest the young Prime's recent ascension to his more powerful creator's position. That several of them had funded Optimus's own forging, then later his upgrades and training, would be rewarded when the time came. That was, if they remained loyal to him.<em>

_"Open," he said with a sneer, not waiting for the pathetically twitching thing to initiate the sequence. He reached into two of the holes the spear had created, and with the power still coursing through him he ripped the plates apart with a shower of sparks and a spray of fluids. The prize hid behind the pathetically guttering spark, but there was something he needed to do first, despite his disdain for the dimming silver light. His hardlines ripped into the other's ports without waiting for them to iris open. The Matrix itself helpfully brought down his foe's firewalls; the hallowed relic no longer deeming the former Prime worthy to bear it, was reaching for its new bearer. Optimus initiated the code that opened his and his foe's laser cores, exposing their sparks, and then crushed their chests together. The Matrix's strength flowed through the hardlines to his own blue-green spark, which expanded, enveloped the dimming silver one. Both conqueror and vanquished keened in an overload that was both agony and ecstasy as the silver spark began to shred, releasing its power into his own before extinguishing completely._

_He staggered back, but did not go offline. Regaining his footing, he ripped out the now vacant laser core out of the greying frame and threw it to the floor to lie alongside the grey shells of Prime's guards, before placing both his hands on the prize within in triumph, holding it up for all to see. He felt its call to him, its resonance harmonizing with his own in a seductive song, the light from with the Matrix shining bright enough to short out the optics of those who watched as he placed it within his own chest where it slid behind and slightly under his own laser core, realigning his internals to make space for itself. His shout of triumph turned into the expected shriek of agony as the metamorphosis of his frame and processors began._

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><p>Overriding the lock, Jazz burst into to Prime's quarters at the sound of the keening and bellows of agony within. A burst of code irised open Optimus's thoracic port and his own hardline snaked in, initiating protocols that would end the memory loop and online the blue and red mech. Only Primes could dream, they said, as though it were some special privilege and not the horror Jazz knew it to be.<p>

He steeled himself as Optimus onlined and lunged for him in a single motion, partially crushing Jazz's neck cabling as the silver mech went completely limp, docile and submissive, in the strong hand before sanity came to Prime's optics and he moaned, low and quiet, releasing the smaller mech gently on the great berth.

"Primus," Optimus said in barely a whisper. "I was dreaming, but I suppose you know that. Forgive me Jazz."

"Ain't nothin' t' forgive, Optimus," Jazz said, popping out the dents, moving around his helm and shrugging his shoulders to adjust the placement of the cabling that had gone out of line. "Third time in the last decaorn, though, boss."

"The dark ones are becoming more persistent. The more I rely on their skills in battle, the more the awakened think they have right to influence me."

"I wish ya'd just be rid of the thing. Ya don't need the Matrix t' be Prime. It's you we follow, not that relic. We'd follow ya t' the pit an' back as Orion."

"That might be true for those who are closest to me. For you, Ratchet and Ironhide, even for Prowl. But you know it isn't true of the rest of the Autobots, Jazz. And without the Matrix, I stand no chance against Megatron. It is the worst of them that allow me to match him. Without their violence, I would... I do not have the spark for it."

"Then let me help ya bear it," Jazz said, climbing onto Prime's lap and stroking his plating, offering his former function, as he always did. "Let me give ya some light to fight back against the dark."

Optimus wrapped protective arms around his longtime friend and leaned down so that his helm met the silver one. "I will not sully you with my spark, Jazz. The desires of even the best of those that speak from it are nothing I could subject you to."

"Your spark ain't sullied, boss. Never has been," Jazz murmured, his hands releasing magnetic pulses into the tense cabling in a gesture that was soothing.

"But it still might be, and you must be prepared to do your duty if it does. You cannot do that if you become too close. Whatever title Megatron claims, you are my Lord High Protector, at least when it comes to protecting Cybertron from me."

The room was lit only by the glow of their optics and soft light spilling from the portal of the berthroom to the living and and refueling area beyond where Ironhide silently stood guard, having commed Jazz as soon as the noises began. When the fluxes had begun shortly after their latest brutal battle, Prime's command staff had decided that one of them would be in his quarters any time he recharged.

What neither Jazz, Optimus, nor Ironhide knew was that another mech was also present, the finest disruptor shield in the history of their kind active and keeping his presence hidden from even the most highly tuned sensors. So long as he did not have to activate weapons or comms, or any other systems that gave off a signature, he was invisible. His protocols dictated that he report this latest flux to his Lord, as he should have the other two he had witnessed. Fortunately, he long ago had arranged for those codes to run within a specially segmented portion of his processors that were active only when he was in the presence of said Lord. For now, he had made his decision. It was time for the subterfuge to end.

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><p>To be continued<p> 


	2. Betrayal

**Title:** Consort - Betrayal  
><strong>Author:<strong> Femme4jack  
><strong>Continuity:<strong> AU Fusion of G1 - Bayverse - Aligned Continuity Family - IDW (in other words I'm picking and choosing stuff I like and making things up)  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Optimus Prime, Jazz, Prowl, Mirage, eventually Optimus Prime/Mirage **Summary:**Mirage's secret is uncovered.

**Notes:**for White Aster for her winning bid on the FandomAid Help Somalia Auction on livejournal. Not sure why Prima is a femme, but she insists, despite canon stating otherwise. *Shrugs* I always give them all the same equipment anyhow.

**Chapter Warnings: Memories/visions of violent sticky interfacing of dubious consent and torture**

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><p>Mirage deactivated his disruptor shield in the wastelands between Iacon and Polyhex so he could initiate a wider scan than the technology allowed. He was in the ruins of an old neutral camp that his Lord has ordered razed earlier in the vorn. The buildings, if they could have been called that, which the neutrals had used to shelter themselves from acid rain had never been sturdy. Now they were merely piles of thin scrap metal in random heaps on the ground.<p>

After a quick scan showed no other signatures in the vicinity, a datachip popped out of his wrist. He placed the chip underneath a large plate of corroded roofing, then added a glyph to the seemingly random bits of graffiti already on it. A noise at the far end of the camp had him freeze and scan again before reactivating his disruptor shield just to be safe. A starving glitchmouse scuttled out from underneath a different pile the direction the noise had come from. Mirage stared at the creature as it scurried its way into another pile of wreckage, likely searching for traces of dried energon that the orns and acid rains had not worn away.

* * *

><p>"You are sure of what you saw?" Optimus asked, bitter sadness and anger settling into his spark. Jazz, sitting next to his scout looked as cold as Optimus had ever seen him.<p>

Hound, for his part, looked miserable. The master spy, whose loyalty was now in question, was someone he considered a good friend. They had served on Jazz's team since near the beginning of the war when the noble had been sent to Prime as a "gift" from a high ranking house in Crystal City in exchange for certain protections. When Prime had diplomatically turned down the offer to take the young noble as a consort, Mirage had offered his services in a different manner, forsaking his House and refusing to return to the Towers. Being an Autobot, he had said, and serving his Prime in whatever way Prime saw fit, was more important than serving his House.

Time and time again, Mirage had been the source of some of the best intelligence they had on Decepticon strategies. The mech had clocked countless orns inside Darkmount itself, and Hound had been involved in several of Mirage's extractions from that formidable fortress. The green mech recalled the near starved condition the spy was often in at the end of a mission, as well as the brutal treatment the noble had received the one time he had been caught and had managed to escape. How was it possible that he had been a Decepticon agent all along?

"I happened to have my scanners on maximum, and was simply in the right place at the right time on my route. I picked him up deactivating his shield while I was still out of his range. I knew something wasn't right. He was not supposed to be in that sector, so I quickly put up a hologram and masked my signature. A joor later, a small unit came from the direction of Polyhex, scanned the area, found the signal he left, and took the chip."

"You didn't attempt to recover the chip before they came?" Prowl asked.

"Negative. I followed protocol and didn't blow cover, felt it was more important to get back here without Mirage any the wiser, and I didn't know how long he would stay, or if he would stay until the chip had been retrieved. I dropped the hologram after the unit was well out of sensor range, assuming Mirage had already left. No reason for him to be there once they'd picked up his drop."

Prowl nodded and turned toward the silver mech sitting beside the scout. "Jazz, what is Mirage's current status?"

"He is between covert missions and was assigned to patrol the Tarn borderlands. He is due to report back in two orns."

"Find some pretext to recall him, without tipping him off, then take him into custody," Optimus said in a tone that was flat. "I will interrogate him myself."

Every mech in the room stiffened. The word Prime had used was not the typical glyph used for questioning, or even a processor hack. Optimus planned to interrogate the noble spark-to-spark, as was his ancient right as Prime. No one could resist a Prime spark with the power of the Matrix behind it, but it was a line Optimus had never before crossed.

He had also never been so thoroughly betrayed.

No one objected. It was harsh, horrible, but there was truly no better way to ascertain the extent of Mirage's betrayal. What would be left of the spy by the end of it was anyone's guess, and would depend, in part, whether Mirage chose to resist.

"Ya sure ya want t' go down that road, Optimus," Jazz finally asked.

Blue optics met the purple visor. He knew what Jazz was referring to, what demons he fought as the darker presences in the Matrix attempted to exert their influence at times beside when they were specifically called upon. "In this case, I have no doubt that such action is completely justified. You are all dismissed." Optimus stood, but before the portal to the secure conference room irised open, there was a shimmer in the corner as the subject of their conversation revealed his presence. Even as the remaining mechs in the room stood up in shock and activated their weapons, the spy knelt with his helm touching the floor, his arms spread wide in a ritual gesture of complete surrender of the right to his spark.

"I am here to turn myself in, admitting freely that I have been a double agent for Megatron," he said even as Hound, Jazz and Prowl all pinnned the nonresistant noble to the floor at Prime's feet.

Optimus's optics were nearly white with intensity as he stared at the spy, who must have followed Hound all the way from the camp. Finally, he turned his gaze to Jazz. "Prepare him for questioning and contact me when he is ready. Not a word of his betrayal to anyone who was not in this room until I have ordered otherwise. I will be in my quarters." Optimus gave the perfectly still Mirage a final look. The spy never once lifted his helm from the floor.

* * *

><p>Optimus sat in his meditation pose, intending to delve into the vast realms of the Matrix that were ordered and peaceful. Places that had been increasingly difficult for him to access as of late. He wished to commune with Prima, who, like him, had never desired to fight, but had taken that mantle up for the protection of their kind. Normally, she was a great source of wisdom for him. But this orn, even Prima's memories gave him no serenity and did nothing to calm and center him<p>

_Prima's large fingers, scarred and scored by centuries of hard work, dug into the plating of her consort's thighs which she pinned to her berth with near brutal strength, jamming her thick spike into his tightness with a violence that surprised even herself. He took it, chanting encouragement to her rather than flinching in pain as she laid on his frame all of her frustration and rage at their lack of progress and their recent losses to their former masters. His lithe, slighter form, built originally to pleasure and entertain their former masters, belonged to her, spark and frame, to be whatever she needed. Comforter, confidant, lover, and now, the recipient of her brutality._

_She had not even bothered to ready him for herself when she had stormed back into her quarters, stained with multiple fluids from the most recent failed battle. The dryness of his valve added to the friction and sent lances of pain up her spike with each thrust, and she welcomed it, punishing them both for what they could not achieve. He was hers. A Prime needed at least one being with whom she need not be noble, and he was honored to comply. With a keen she slammed into him a final time and emptied herself, her hot fluid scalding the raw, scratched walls of his valve. She rested there a moment, her helm against his, ventilations cooling her frame when fans alone could not. When he attempted to kiss her, to initiate a more loving interface, she pulled herself out of him harshly. "Clean me," she ordered, lying back on the berth to allow his gentle, knowing hands to sooth away her anger._

_As her consort began his ministrations, she turned, and looked directly at the one who observed her memory. "You need this," she said in a tone that was harsh and knowing. "You must have someone with whom you do not have to be the patient, wise leader. Someone who will gladly take the worst of you so you can be at your best the rest of the time. He offered this to you. Perhaps when you refused, he offered it to Megatron, on one of his missions? He is consort by coding. This is what he _needs_ to be. You refused a gift, and now it is being used against you."_

_Ignoring the rest of her words, Optimus focussed on the brutality he had witnessed, which he was loathe to admit had left his own spike straining hard against his panel. "I do not need that!" He snapped back at her, turning away so his optics would no longer be drawn to the damaged valve of Prima's consort, whom he knew from other memories that she truly cherished, and cherished her in return. He was one of several, but favored among them, and would eventually die to protect her. "If that is what it means for a Prime to take a lover, I want nothing of it," he muttered, retreating from the memory that did nothing to prepare and center him for what was to come when he interrogated his top spy._

_Optimus heard her laugh at him as though from a great distance as he retreated from the memory. "Your frame says something very different than your words, Optimus. Take someone else before you explode and hurt a mech far beyond a little damage to a willingly offered valve. You know you want to. Why else are you interrogating him yourself?"_

_"Slag off," he muttered to his hallowed ancestress, the first and greatest of their kind._

_Optimus willed his consciousness to return to his frame from its journey into the pit-spawn artifact. But before he had fully onlined from his failed meditations, another memory coalesced before him. Nova, who would become known as the great explorer once the Quintessons had finally given up the war, had a trembling mech chained to his berth, every plate of armor removed to reveal the terrified mech's hypersensitive protoform underneath._

_"Optimus!" Nova said warmly, approaching him and gripping his forearm, pulling their helms together like the closest of companions. An electro whip hung from his other hand. Noticing the direction of his gaze, Nova lifted the whip and flicked it at the writhing, struggling form on his berth, whose vocalizer shorted out with the scream. "That one was caught selling information to the Quintessons shortly before we drove them from the planet. One of my servants! Can you believe it? Would you care to witness his punishment? Perhaps it will give you ideas of what to do to your spy before you take his spark?"_

_Optimus pulled himself away in horror, fleeing back consciousness to the sound of Nova's laughter._

* * *

><p>"Everything's disabled that should be," Jazz reported from outside of the solitary holding cell. "He disabled it all himself, but I locked it down, at his request. He's already downloaded all of his codes for me. I didn't even have t' ask nicely. Also gave me the contents of his latest drop, which, if he's bein' truthful, is a set up, designed to draw several Decepticon Ops agents into an ambush with false information 'bout an operation of our own."<p>

"Which could, in turn be a set up for us," Prowl said.

"Which is what I will determine," Optimus said in a tone that would tolerate no arguments. "Hold off on any action until I am finished."

Jazz hesitated, clearly about to offer again to do the deed himself. Optimus ignored the comms that briefly buzzed between his two officers before Jazz vented and sent a burst of code that opened the portal to the cell beyond, then another burst that lowered the force shield at the far end of the portal. Optimus had to duck his large frame to enter, and when he was inside, his bulk took up most of the small space. With a wave of his hand, he signaled Jazz to secure the cell.

Mirage was prone on a berth, magnetic restraints pinning his arms and legs, invoking in Prime's processors echoes of ancient memories of other captives, slaves, and lovers, which he ruthlessly suppressed.

The noble, his elegant lines and highest quality frame, forged to be everything a powerful mech would desire, looked as lovely as Optimus could ever recall, and he inwardly cursed the far-too-sentient presences in the Matrix for agreeing and whispering suggestions of what could be done to such a captive. He felt his spark surge with desire, whether to punish for betrayal or to utterly possess and take back what should rightfully be his, he could not be certain. He almost turned to leave the cell, intending to take Jazz up on the offer to ascertain the truth through a processor hack. But then he heard the sound of Mirage's chest plates parting, and a warm blue light reflected on the sterile walls of the cell as the noble offered his spark without being ordered or asked.


	3. Interrogation

**Title:** Consort 3 - Interrogation  
><strong>Author:<strong> Femme4jack  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Continuity:<strong> AU Fusion of G1 - Bayverse - Aligned Continuity Family - IDW - etc. (in other words I'm picking and choosing stuff I like and making things up)  
><strong>Characters &amp; Pairings:<strong> Optimus Prime x Mirage, Megatron x Mirage, Alpha Trion 

**Summary:** _Only Primes were strong enough to force a truly one-sided merge, to know all there was to know in a spark while remaining completely transcendent. But remaining transcendent and aloof was the last thing Optimus wished to do._

**Notes:**For White Aster for her winning bid on the FandomAid Help Somalia Auction on livejournal. Thanks for the delicious prompt and for you generosity! Thank you to Merfilly for the wonderfully helpful beta and feedback. Also, I started a job this week, and have far less time to write (and am far more tired), so updates will not be as frequent, sad to say.

**Chapter Warnings: Reference to past violent interfacing, present explicit mech/mech (spark, sticky), and I'm labeling it all noncon.** (Even though Mirage consciously embraces his loyalty and obedience coding, he had no choice in the matter of having that coding in the first place, and thus it is noncon, imo. I really question whether Optimus had any true ability to choose at the end of this chapter as well.)

* * *

><p>Optimus's optics were locked on the blue glow pouring from the chest of the mech he thought he had known, but who was now a complete enigma to him, though no less desirable and lovely. He felt his field expand in response, wanting something far different from the noble's spark than the interrogation he was about to subject it to. It was nearly impossible <em>not<em> to respond to a mech as finely forged as the one now bound in the brig.

Every Prime he could access had done what he was about to do at least once. Some of them many times, with little provocation. Some of his less noble predecessors were urging upon him their memories of the unsurpassed power of completely dominating another spark, of taking everything from it and giving nothing in return. Optimus brutally repressed those desires, calling forth instead the memories of those who had interrogated other sparks because they had to, for the good of their world rather than out of personal depravity.

No matter how strong, how powerful a mech might be, no one could go spark-to-spark with a Prime and win. A spark strong enough to bear and be strengthened by the Matrix could not be matched. Only Primes were strong enough to force a truly one-sided merge, to know all there was to know in a spark while remaining completely transcendent.

But remaining transcendent and aloof was the last thing Optimus wished to do. He wanted to plunge into Mirage's spark and claim it, to make the beautiful, vulnerable (_treacherous_, a voice whispered) creature writhe, beg and keen as Optimus reclaimed what was his from Megatron.

As Orion, he had sparkmerged for pleasure, comfort, and to strengthen the ties within his former cohort, most frequently with his anchoring trine, Ariel and Dion. The Matrix's symbiosis with him (_parasitism_, another part of his processor countered) had severed his cohort bonds. His spark was far too powerful now for anything resembling the mutuality found in a cohort. He had made the mistake of interfacing and merging with his former lovers once, shortly after his metamorphosis when he had not yet presented himself to the Council. The awe and reverence in place of their heretofore easy, laughter-filled merges was more than Optimus could bear.

The two now served together at the Autobot base defending the Tagan Heights and the important industrial production sector located there. He was glad they had one another, and gladder still that he did not have to interact with them on a regular basis.

"Do whatever you wish to me," Mirage finally whispered as the silence stretched and Optimus made no move to come closer. "I deserve whatever comes, and more, for having deceived you for so long, my Lord Prime."

The words startled Optimus out of his despondent reverie. He had wanted to be cold and distant to the spy, to dispassionately examine his spark, determine the extent of his guilt, and, if necessary, instantly mete out the consequences of Mirage's treachery. It was a duty. A burden that Primes sometimes were compelled to shoulder.

He could not remain cold when heat was pooling in his interface like molten metal.

"Why, Mirage?" Optimus finally said.

"I can't answer that question, my Lord Prime," Mirage said. "But my spark can."

It occurred to Optimus that Mirage was, literally, speaking the truth.

Optimus stared again at the vulnerable mech, open and waiting for him. His spike throbbed in its housing, and the desire to take, claim, and utterly own a mecha designed for that very function warred in him with an equally compelling urge to protect something so precious and beautiful. He had resisted the urge up until this point by keeping Mirage far, far away from him, busy in Jazz's division and on missions much of the time. To think that doing just that may have led Mirage to treachery...

"Optimus," Mirage said in a pleading tone, with a hint of exasperation. "Look in me."

Optimus found himself kneeling by the berth, undoing the magnetic restraints, and pulling Mirage to a seated position and then to straddle his lap. The static-edged sound that escaped from the Mirage's vocalizer had Optimus groaning, one hand gripping the graceful mech's aft to pull their panels flush together. Prime's other hand dipped in to caress the outer edge of Mirage's spark casing, and he felt a shiver run through the noble's frame

"This will hurt," Optimus said softly. "But not nearly as much if you don't resist."

"Please," Mirage begged again, trembling and seeming to desire the very thing Optimus both hungered for and was horrified by.

Optimus signaled his plates to part, somehow resisting the urge to retract his interface panel as well, and wrapped both his massive arms around the much slighter form.

Mirage's back arched, thrusting his chest forward as though his spark were magnetized to Prime's own, completing the distance before Optimus could pull him the rest of the way. The first brush of their coronas, and any thought of remaining aloof or distant vanished as the smaller blue brilliance was captured by tendrils of Prime's multi-hued spark. Prime's energies dove into Mirage's own and pulled him into the far larger orb.

It was as though something was unlocked in the spy, and Optimus found himself plunged into memories that eclipsed even his burning desires. He did not attempt to control the merge. He did not need to forcefully take when everything was freely offered.

* * *

><p><em>Optimus saw Mirage examining himself, newly onlined and stunningly beautiful in all his gleaming, new-forged perfection. He felt the noble's certainty of function, his spark embracing his purpose without reservation. Optimus found himself caught up in Mirage's fantasy of himself on the arm of his intended, and then being ravished on an elegant and large berth by a mech far larger and more powerful than himself, experiencing the delicious completion of formatting himself around his bonded's every wish and desire, the perfect consort.<em>

_A blur through time, and then he watched Mirage many vorns later, traveling under his electro disruptor toward the pits of Kaon, the last place any highly forged noble would wish to go. It was several vorns before Mirage would present himself to Prime. He felt Mirage's resigned obedience as he was sent to one whom he had not been forged for, a self proclaimed warlord who was destroying everything Mirage had known. But his duty was to his House, to be given to whomever they chose, regardless of his original coding. Once he had bonded with the mech, the confusion and pain would ease. He would become whatever Megatron desired and needed, and would help his House survive and prosper ever as war tore down Cybertron's long standing powers and institutions._

_With the images came the instant full knowledge that only merging sparks could bring._

_The greatest engineer in Cybertronian history had been commissioned by Mirage's House to create the perfect consort for the next Prime, to be given as an ascension gift. Mirage had been forged to be stunningly desirable and coded to shape himself into whatever his Lord Prime would need him to be. But he was also designed to be useful beyond the berth chamber. Some of the most famous consorts in history had similar, but far less perfected versions of the electro disruptor shield technology. Mirage and Optimus both felt a surge as their sparks recognized the kinship they had as mechs so intimately shaped by Alpha Trion._

_Mirage's House Lord had held off on making the gift. The succession had been in question, then the Matrix itself went missing for many vorns. When the new Prime had finally been proclaimed, he not only had no experience in politics, but also none in war, for all that he wore a warrior's frame. Optimus saw Mirage, silently grieving as he was informed by his House Lord of the change in plans. Megatron, for all his ridiculous populist rhetoric and open plans to purge Cybertron's governing institutions, had far better odds of ending up as the Matrix-bearer once the insanity of war had passed._

_"The important thing is for us to survive and retain our power, Mirage," his Lord had intoned. "We must bond him to us as kin, make him dependent upon our funding and resources, and make sure he wins swiftly, decisively before too much is lost. Mecha like him have no processors or skills for politics, have no clue how to run a planet. Through you, our House will become the power behind his throne."_

_Mirage gave the only response it was appropriate for him to give, the only response his coding allowed him to give, despite the protests of his spark. "My place is to obey my Lord and bring glory to my House."_

_Optimus felt Mirage try to suppress the details of what came next, not in order to hide the truth, but to prevent him from feeling the pain of it. But it was no use. There was no hiding in this kind of merge, and Optimus refused to observe aloof and unfeeling._

_Mirage had presented himself to his new Lord, and Megatron had thoroughly sampled his gift, exacting upon Mirage's frame his contempt for the nobles who had held Cybertron locked in their ruthless grasp for so long. It had been Mirage's first time in the berth of any mech, consort coding strict and demanding in that regard. He might have coding that surpassed even the most skilled pleasuremecha, but consorts were to be unsealed by no one save their intended._

_Megatron had no use for a bonded consort, though plenty of use for a mech whose coding compelled obedience and loyalty, who had the finest electro disruptor shield in the history of the technology integrated into his protoform. He graciously accepted the new slave and the tribute funds, and in return offered to delay crushing Mirage's House, for now._

_Megatron, however, had neither truly understood consort coding nor the intricate, bonded alliances between Cybertron's nobility. Consorts were given as gifts to bind one House to another. They were rare, precious, exquisitely coded, and their perfect loyalty and service came with the cost. Had Megatron bonded with his gift, following the old ways, he would have gained a formidable servant for the small price of his spark's recognition of Mirage's house as kin, making it far more difficult for the warlord to harm them._

_But Megatron did not bond or even merge with other mecha. He willingly tortured Mirage's spark and casing, but never touched it with his own. To do so would be to reveal his own weaknesses, his needs. He used Mirage brutally, but never claimed him, never bonded with him and never activated the code that would truly make Mirage his._

_Optimus's was enraged, though he was too enmeshed in the merge to hear his own roar of protest at the abuse of one who should belong to him. But he felt Mirage preen in response, and then quickly soothe away his anger, turning his Prime's attention to more important matters._

_It had never occurred to Mirage's kin that Megatron would accept the rare gift of a highly forged consort without actually bonding with him and activating the code. Mirage, for his part, never corrected Megatron's false assumptions. The warlord believed he had a perfectly obedient consort to use as he pleased, and Mirage shaped a profile to be just that. But without the bond, it remained merely one of many profiles available to him, potential personae to be used to create his new core personality matrix once he fully understood his **bonded** Lord's desires._

_But Mirage's House Lord had misjudged the situation as well, never considering that the the engineer who had crafted Mirage in the first place might have an agenda of his own. He had been instructed to create a perfect consort for the Prime, and Alpha Trion had deliberately taken that instruction literally. Mirage's loyalty coding to the Matrix-bearer was strong enough that the protocols remained dormant in him even after they had been edited by lesser programmers with Megatron in mind. Mirage was compelled to attempt to create a profile that was pleasing to his new Lord, to attempt to convince Megatron, ultimately, to complete the bond and forge the tie with his House. But he was also compelled by those dormant codes._

_Then Megatron had made his second mistake regarding his consort. He had grown weary with his use of his new toy, and decided make use of his other skills, not against his own officers (he had Soundwave for that), but against the Autobots, and, specifically, to feed his obsession with the Prime who ascended from complete obscurity to oppose him._

_"Slave," Megatron had commanded the broken mech on his berth. "Report to Hook for repairs. I am sending you to the Autobots. You are to deceive them into believing that your House sent you to Optimus rather than to me. Prime is far too fair to accept the gift that would privilege one House over another, so you will offer to serve him in other ways. Once you are trusted, you will use every opportunity to be in the presence of Matrix-bearer. I want to know everything about him. What he says and does in private, when alone with his officers, whom he interfaces with, his hungers and perversions. Anything that will be of use to me. Please me, and you and your House will continue to function. If you are caught, I will personally take the spark of every mecha in your precious tower."_

_"My place is to obey my Lord and bring victory to the the Decepticons," Mirage had intoned as his profile demanded of him._

_The result had been a conflict so deep in Mirage's coding that his ability to function was nothing short of miraculous. But with Special Ops training enhancing his innate ability to create profiles, he had been able to feed Megatron's obsession without truly giving compromising intelligence, while allowing his originally coded loyalty, his spark-deep devotion to his original intended to slowly gain dominance over loyalty to either his House or his Lord. The tightrope Mirage walked spoke volumes of his growing skills, strength, and the near infinite will of his spark to be what he had been forged to be. Operating under his Decepticon profile, he had been able to withstand even Soundwave's scrutiny, while simultaneously spying for the Autobots, giving them valued intelligence that never compromised himself._

_Finally, he had gained enough of an upper hand on his coding to break free, to no longer be compelled to return to the mech whom his protocols no longer recognized as his Lord. All that he needed now was for his true intended to claim him, bond with him so he could finally fulfill his original function and be the mech he had been forged to be, consort to the Prime._

* * *

><p>When Optimus came back to himself, his spike was already pistoning itself deep in Mirage's valve, the smaller mech now on the floor beneath him, writhing and keening in a perfect echo of the fantasies he'd had as a newly forged consort. Something in Prime's spark screamed at him to stop the violation, images of Megatron's brutal use of the noble flashing through his processors. But the images only inflamed him further as he claimed what was his. Stopping was never a possibility. It was as though he had been but a cork in the sea of desires and appetites of not only his ancestors, but his own deepest self, and it took only moments before he had lost himself in a flood of a different kind.<p>

He was too lost in self recrimination to sense the utter contentment spinning in Mirage's field, but instead scrambled away from the noble in horror.

"What have I done?" were the only words he spoke as he fled from the brig, pausing only long enough to order the stunned Prowl and Jazz to release Mirage to Ratchet's care.


	4. Vector Speaks

**Title:** Consort 4 - Vector Speaks  
><strong>Author:<strong> Femme4jack  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Continuity:<strong> AU Multi-continuity Fusion Madness (in other words I'm picking and choosing stuff I like and totally making slag up)  
><strong>Characters &amp; Pairings:<strong> Optimus Prime x Mirage, Jazz, Prowl, Ratchet, Vector Prime.  
><strong>Summary:<strong>Optimus is visited by an ancient Prime he has never encountered before.

**Notes:**For White Aster for her winning bid on the FandomAid Help Somalia Auction on livejournal. Thanks for the delicious prompt and for your generosity!

Dialog dialog dialog. So much f-ing dialog this chapter. But the weird multiverse bunnies that I thought I had successfully caged last chapter actually were breeding and insisted on having their merry way this chapter.

**Chapter Warnings:** smut (mech/mech oral, sticky), references past valve injury sustained during interfacing of very dubious consent, references noncon fantasy.

* * *

><p><em>The Matrix was strangely quiet as Optimus floated through what this time appeared as a vast, empty expanse of the astral plane. His predecessors, normally so ready to offer him all manner of advice and recollections, were not making themselves known in the void. Perhaps, he reasoned, they did not need to.<em>

_He no longer needed their memories to lure him. He was generating enough fantasies on his own without their help, and their silence was likely that of spectators as his every lurid desire played out in his processors. The void around him filled with images of Mirage, bound and spread upon the berth in the brig, panels retracted and chest plates open, sometimes begging his Prime to take what he needed, and other times pleading with him not to because he belonged to another. Either way, Prime took, repeatedly._

_After the mutuality of his now severed cohort bonds, the idea of what amounted to a personal slave, whose entire function was to please him, should have been repugnant. Optimus had never reconciled himself with the privileges assumed to come with his Primacy. Granted, the war had made most of those privileges implausible to begin with. But even during the brief time they had been an option, when he had been told that refusing to enjoy what was rightfully his was tantamount to blasphemy to the mecha who worshiped him as Primus-in-metalum, he had resisted._

_Optimus had never wanted anything more than the fulfillment of enjoying his function and the cohort he shared it with, a life that had ended for him with Megatron's attack on the energon docks. He apparently had consented to his fate during his merge with Alpha Trion, but he had no memory of the time between the attack and the moment he onlined in agony during his metamorphosis. Not that he doubted. Orion Pax had not been a mech to shirk from his duty, even if it meant losing all that he had been so content with. That duty was not to be the pampered and pliant figurehead the Council and Emirates desired him to be, but, as Alpha Trion had taught him, to lead with his spark, strengthened, but not controlled, by the power of the Matrix._

_As to the decadence and luxury that came with the Primacy, he found it universally revolting. His brief residence in the palace, with its legion of servants attempting to attend to his every need, had been the loneliest vorn of his functioning, and Optimus had gladly ordered the complex, along with its staff, to be commandeered for a hospital and refugee center once he had successfully asserted himself over the Council._

_Yet, if he had never desired the spoils of his position, why was he now imagining himself summoning Mirage with a casual wave of his hand? Why was the elegant and exquisitely shaped consort adorned suggestively with precious minerals and crystals imported from distant colonies? Why did his field and interface throb in anticipation as Mirage reverently approached to kneel between his massive legs while Optimus reclined on the never-used throne and patiently listened to the petitions of mecha both humble and great? Why, as he intoned his decisions to the orn's supplicants, were his fingers stroking Mirage's nemes-shaped vents possessively as his consort worshipped his spike with skilled glossa and nimble hands? Why did he casually drizzle some costly Vosian high grade from his finely etched cube onto his rigid interface so Mirage could lap it up a reward? The scene was the embodiment of all he had rejected._

_"Are you always this self-sacrificing and hard on yourself, Optimus? He appears to be enjoying himself rather thoroughly, if you ask me." The words came from one of the supplicants whose appearance was rapidly changing. The now towering mech approached the dais and looked at Mirage's efforts with frank admiration as the visible evidence of the building charge began to arc in luminous blue flashes across the high-forged mech's face and up his arms._

_Optimus's optic feeds were beginning to fritz as his systems progressed toward overload, but he dimly noted the approaching frame, covered in ancient glyphs and filigree, and the red cloak with a jade black lining that seemed to be filled with stars and obscured parts of the massive mech in palpable shadows. Optimus offlined his optics and chose to ignore the new Prime for the moment, for clearly that was who had appeared among the anonymous supplicants. If the ancient one wished to be a voyeur, then let him. This was his own fantasy, no matter how inappropriate. Finishing his high grade and setting it aside, he gripped Mirage's vents with both hands and with a low rumble, urged him to increase the pace. The charge grew with an audible deep and rhythmic thrum in his chest, and soon his audials were deaf to anything but his the loud buzz of his own pleasure. Torrid heat pooled low within him, and suddenly every system surged as the current rushed into his reservoir, energizing the transfluid to flood through his spike in a brilliant release._

_Optimus caressed the finely shaped helm in thanks, and felt his consort smile around his spike and hum in response. He finally turned his attention to the ancient Prime who was patiently waiting and watching with no small amount of amusement flickering in his field._

_"In my dreams, it seems that I am anything but self-sacrificing," Optimus finally responded to the mech's initial statement, glancing down at Mirage who was cleaning him with languid kisses. "We have not yet met."_

_"Indeed, you do not know me," the star-cloaked Prime said in a voice that was soft, yet ripe with power. "I am Vector, and my function is to watch and record. I only interfere when the fabric of space and time itself is at risk, though most are not even aware of my interventions. I speak to few, and appear to fewer, though recently I have had many long and enlightening conversations with the mech who made you what you are today. Now the time for silence has ended. I have been watching you, assessing your suitability for the task ahead."_

_Optimus frowned. There were no records of Vector in the archives, though the ancient mech felt far different from those who had been deliberately expunged from the histories or those that had not been Primes in his own dimension. "What task are you speaking of? Something to do with the war?"_

_"I deliberately removed the traces of myself when I became the guardian of space and time," Vector answered the unvoiced question. "And your task does have something to do with a war, but one far more ancient than the skirmish you are currently fighting."_

_"You call the war with the Decepticons a skirmish? When a quarter of the mecha on Cybertron have extinguished as a direct result of the violence and hardship?"_

_"A skirmish, yes," Vector agreed. "Your civil war is but a small family quarrel compared to what is coming. I have been watching both you and your adversary, attempting to determine which of you is better suited to face the trials ahead."_

_As Vector spoke, he reached out and fondly stroked the delicate sensor winglets on Mirage's back as the noble continued his ministrations, oblivious to anything but his own Prime. Optimus gave a low growl of displeasure at the touch and placed his own hands firmly on Vector's wrists and pushed them away. The ancient Prime smirked and took a step back._

_"You used Mirage," Optimus said with a flash of realization that tended to come to him in his meditations._

_"Use him? I suppose you could say that I did. I became a part of him and observed two potential champions through him. I was with Alpha Trion when Mirage was forged, and placed a portion of myself within your consort's spark. Every eventuality in his functioning led to him serving both you and Megatron, and choosing to betray one for the benefit of the other. It was not clear to me whether the better outcome in the end was for you or Megatron to wield the Matrix when your true enemy strikes, but I knew that he who ended up with it would be better off with Mirage at his side, so I was poised to intervene to ensure that, if need be. Those of us who protect the fabric of the multiverse do not have the privilege of working only through those who are noble and kind, Optimus. And your war, as pointless and fratricidal as it is, can serve to prepare those who will need to fight something far worse than their own kind."_

_Optimus felt himself become agitated within his meditations, wanting to violently reject Vector Prime's words. The idea that the suffering of Cybertron's population was simply a means of honing them for some worse conflict was repugnant to him, as was the manipulation and use of Mirage. It went against everything Prime valued about the freedom of sentient beings to create their own destiny and not have it determined by those who would abuse their power._

_Mirage felt his agitation, and responded by revealing a container of polish, along with rare organic chamois. With tender care, the consort began to polish his Prime, starting with his pedes. The scent that soon permeated the chamber revealed the polish to be exceedingly rare and precious, from a world long gone. He had been polished with it once before, upon his formal ascension as Prime. Afterwards, he had ordered the entire supply to be sold to spoiled towerlings and the funds used to help Cybertron's growing number of war refugees. Now, Optimus felt himself melt into the tender care of the hands that were tending him and offering him a priceless gift._

_"Who is this enemy you speak of? What is coming?" Optimus finally asked when he was calm enough to continue. "What is such a threat to the multiverse that you would give the Matrix so someone as cruel as Megatron? You have seen what he does with simply the power of his own frame and spark."_

_Vector looked at the rhythmic, soothing movements of Mirage's hands rather than at his counterpart's optics, and spoke gravely and without a trace of the casual amusement that had been hinted in his voice before. "Who is coming is Nemesis Prime, Optimus. The one you know as Nova. In a different universe from this one, he was drawn to a singularity in the Benzuli Expanse while on his mission of conquest. Through it, he entered the dead realm, whose powers desire to consume every living universe. A power of anti-life found him there, and he bonded with it willingly, becoming a portal between the dead universe and the living multiverse. In that dimension, the Matrix was changed to something completely dark. It reverberated through the multiverse and corrupted the Matrixes in the other dimensions as well, including this one. The forces Nemesis has allowed to cross into the living realms have already consumed several other universes. I have tried and failed to stop the destruction each time. In this one, I foresee that Nemesis and those whom he is but a harbinger of can possibly be halted. The Matrix is not so corrupt here, and despite all of Nova's efforts, you have been able to use it as the tool it was intended to be."_

_"How has it been corrupted? What has changed" Optimus asked._

_"The Matrix is a conduit between the physical universe and the powers and energies that are beyond the physical. The corruption of Nemesis acts as a filter. It attempts to allow only the cruelty to filter through, while blocking the compassion and wisdom you seek. In your case, it allows memories of what you fear to become, and tries to convince you that this is what you already are. Yet, you have successfully used that as a crucible against which to test yourself, and have managed still to find in it the strength and wisdom you need."_

_"Is there any means of fixing it? Any way for it to be what it was meant to be?" Optimus suddenly sounded small and tired._

_"Perhaps, Optimus. If Nemesis is defeated, if the portal his existence has created between the dead realm and the multiverse is shut, then, perhaps each Prime who comes after you will continue to heal it with their own sparks."_

_"And you believe I am the one meant to have the Matrix, to fight what is coming," Optimus concluded flatly._

_"I did not say that," Vector cautioned. "The eventualities are too unclear. In some dimensions, the champion most definitely must be Megatron. In others, clearly you. In others still, another arises after you and Megatron have succeeded in destroying one another. But I believe this reality is the key, and it is the one in which the choice is most unclear."_

_"How will you go about deciding, then, since you have done this before?" Optimus asked impatiently. "The Matrix in Megatron's hands will mean the death of thousands, perhaps even millions whom he considers weak and unworthy of functioning. Do you expect me just to give it to him because you say so? Or will you use Mirage again to give Megatron some advantage so he might rip it from me?"_

_"I cannot say how I have intervened or decided in other universes, Optimus. But those actions cannot guide me, as there is no clear way for me to make the choice in this dimension. I have become so very fond of Mirage. He was created to be the perfect consort to the Prime, so I have decided to trust his choice between the two of you. Mirage is aware, in his spark, though not his processors, of the struggle that is coming. He has chosen you, so I will trust that you are the wisest choice."_

_Optimus pulled the dreamscape Mirage to his lap, holding him close for the kind of comfort he did not allow himself in waking function. "It was cruel to make him such a slave to his coding, to make him suffer," he said. "You say he made his choice, but I am uncertain he had any choice in the matter."_

_"And that is where you are wrong, young Prime. He was coded with a function that allows him a level of flexibility unknown to others. He can completely recode himself without losing himself, because who he is, at spark and core function, is flexibility itself. With the knowledge of the coming conflict that is in his spark, he could very well have chosen Megatron, could have easily convinced Megatron to bond with him, and offered your enemy an advantage that would have eventually won him the Matrix. The conflict in Mirage's coding offered him a choice, and he chose you. You are the one he wishes to mold himself around, and with his help, my hope is that you will keep the Matrix, and face the greater struggle that is to come."_

_Optimus offlined his optics, focusing only on the fine lines of mech on his lap, allowing himself to give in to his desires to stroke the perfect frame possessively, to drink in the pleasure of having another living spark who was utterly **his**. He was suddenly overwhelmed with a surge of protectiveness. Vector might have helped create Mirage, given him a part of his spark and used him to decide how to intervene, but Mirage belonged to **Optimus**, not the ancient, meddlesome Prime. With a low growl, he looked up at the other Prime and flared his field in challenge._

_"Never fear, Optimus. I am finished here. He is yours, though I hope you remember that fact when you online, because I cannot allow you to recall this conversation. You must face what is to come without undo influence from me. It is your spark that must guide you, and there is much you must still face before your final test. A part of me will be with you in your consort, and when the time is right, if needed, I will intervene again."_

_"Then why tell all of this to me, if I am destined to forget?" Optimus snapped, becoming steadily more waspish. Mirage began placing a trail of kisses along the seam in his chestplates to distract him from his aggravation._

_"Oh, just because you forget does not mean you will not be influenced by what has been said, Optimus. Surely you know by now, from what you have seen and experienced in this place, that memory files are but the smallest force that shapes and guides us."_

_Optimus tried to respond, but the way the mech on his lap was moving against him gave plenty of motivation to ignore and forget about the manipulative glitch who was disappearing into his starlit cloak._

* * *

><p>Optimus sat with Prowl, Jazz and Ratchet in his office, forcing himself not to fidget in the face of his deep discomfort with the topic of their conversation. It did not help that Ratchet had been vocally livid at the damage that had been done to Mirage's valve while in custody and had used his CMO override to demand the truth from the other officers while Optimus had been sequestered in his quarters dealing with his own fallout. Needless to say, the Medic had neither been understanding nor forgiving.<p>

"There must be some other way to resolve this," Optimus said. "Some way to remove the consort coding and allow him a choice."

"Prime, both Ratchet an' I've looked as deeply in him as we dare. His code is as complex and conflicted as anything I've seen, an' we only could see it cause he let us. I've scanned him plenty of other times in Ops debriefings, an' before now, I've only ever seen whatever profile he was usin' at the time. The only way you're gonna rid him of the consort coding is t' reformat him completely, an' since he has no desire t' be anything other than what he is..."

"It would be an even worse violation of his personal agency," Ratchet finished the statement, deliberately emphasizing the word violation.

"You said he has overcome the loyalty coding regarding his House and Megatron. Why is he still so conflicted?" Prowl asked, deliberately steering the conversation away from the Medic's current irate anger with his Prime.

"He's overcome it, yeah, enough t' be able t' show Prime what was really happenin'" Jazz explained. "But now he's in the same position he initially was with ole Megs. With all he's gone through, he'll be inherently unstable 'til he finally bonds and can piece together some of those profiles to become his core personality matrix."

"So we are left with the choice of a complete reformat, against his will, essentially destroying who he is, or him bonding with a mech who violated him," Ratchet stated bluntly.

"Lay off him, Ratchet," Jazz snapped, clearly at the end of his patience with the CMO's accusations. "Ya know's well as I do that Prime would never purposefully damage someone that way. You scanned Mirage. You know he was willin', and Prime here's as messed up by all this consort codin' as Mirage is, an' ya know how easy it is to lose any kind of control in a merge."

"No, do not lay off me," Optimus countered. "Ratchet is completely within his rights. I _should_ have maintained control in that merge. That is what a Prime spark is supposed to be capable of in an interrogation when aided by the Matrix. I allowed myself to be swept away in the allure of Mirage's willingness and loyalty, and I lost control, and no one is responsible for that other than myself. I violated a mech who has risked his life and the wellbeing of his entire House for me, and who has suffered in unimaginable ways due to my impact on his own coding. The fact that on top of everything else that has taken place, I intimately damaged him is unforgivable."

Ratchet gave a nod of satisfied agreement with Prime's assessment while Jazz muttered something about glitched fraggers who insisted on applying electro whips to open wounds. Optimus ignored them both and turned toward Prowl "It is the risk to his House that I am most concerned for now. Sooner or later it will become clear to Megatron that he has lost his agent, and he will strike against Mirage's House ruthlessly, and may use it as an excuse to destroy the Towers of Crystal City altogether, the way he did in Kalis."

"Lord Xeon made his choice when he attempted to secretly ally himself with Megatron," Prowl said calmly. "We cannot be responsible for the consequences, nor can we afford to protect towerling privilege. Too many of the Emirates are deliberately playing both sides to their advantage while this world literally crumbles around them. Even if they do not choose to align themselves, they could at least be putting their resources toward helping the refugees from Kaon, Vos, Praxis and Kalis and those of their own states who are starving."

Optimus vented and dimmed his optics momentarily as he considered the issue at hand, tapping his fingers together. When he looked at his officers again, he spoke with a tone of quiet resolution.

"The other members of Mirage's House are not responsible for the choices Xeon made, nor are they responsible for Mirage's decision to betray Megatron. However, I also agree that we cannot spare the resources to protect privilege when there are far too many others with no resources and no personal enforcer cadres. Xeon will be taken into custody, but his House will have fair warning that the game is up, and will be offered refuge in Iacon or on one of the other protected bases, provided they are willing to work for their keep assisting other refugees. Considering that we now know that Xeon has been a major source of Megatron's funding, it is a generous offer. The same offer should go to the rest of the Houses as well. We know Xeon is not the only Emirate who has been attempting to play this war to his own advantage. It is a dangerous game. We can offer refuge from it for those who choose to stop playing or who firmly align themselves with us. We will defend any city state that is attacked to the best of our abilities, but no special protections will go those cities' elite."

Everyone nodded their agreement to the proposal. "I'll draw up plans and bring them to you for your approval," Prowl said, his posture and sensory panel angle indicating his impatience to start that task.

"Boss," Jazz added, "before we break up this party, we need t' make a call on whether t' spring the trap Mirage laid with that slag he fed the 'Cons, or we need t' find a way to make sure they know the plans were changed. The first is better for us, but the second'll allow us more time to get targeted populations in defensible locations."

"Who do we stand to take out if we spring the trap?" Optimus asked.

"Given the nature of the false operation Mirage fed them? I give Megatron sending at least one of his top lieutenants a 76.9% probability," Prowl replied, already running other calculations. "Given what Mirage has already told us of his previous patterns, I would say that we have at least a three decaorn before Megatron realizes anything is amiss with Mirage, more if he can continue to play the part of double agent for a time."

Optimus again considered his choices, and when he finally spoke, it was resolute. "Most of the mecha in Mirage's house are innocent of their lord's misdeeds. Jazz, find a way to have the Decepticons find out that we have cancelled the operation for plausible reasons that do not incriminate Mirage. I want to give Mirage's House as much time as we can to seek refuge. You are both dismissed," Prime said, looking from his lieutenants to the CMO. "Ratchet, remain here, please."

The two officers exchanged glances as they left, while Ratchet sank in this chair.

"Ratchet, I must meet with Mirage to explain to him his choices and what we understand of his coding, as well as what we are offering to his House. I would like for you to be present. I clearly cannot trust myself."

Ratchet had the decency to look uncomfortable. "Optimus, I understand enough about the consort code and what you experienced in that merge to know you did not harm him intentionally, and he does not consider it a violation, though I'm not sure his protocols gives him much choice in that considering he is coded to give you..."

"He is coded to offer me whatever I desire, which is unconscionable," Prime interrupted. "I would put Lord Xeon and Alpha Trion both on trial for it if it were not such a firmly established tradition in Towers culture and the Primacy itself. But none of that changes the fact that he was a suspect in custody, and instead of a distanced, impersonal merge to assess the situation, I lost control, and when I disengaged from the merge, I was already injuring him. That was never my desire, but it happened nonetheless. The fault is entirely mine. And now... I must offer to bond with him to stabilize his own code, knowing that there will be potential to lose control every time..." Optimus's voice trailed off, and he looked down at his own hands miserably before continuing in a near whisper. "There is a reason I do not take lovers, Ratchet. I have been bombarded with images and desires of the worst of my predecessors from the orn I took the Matrix. They have infected me. I do not trust myself."

Prime's misery finally seemed to touch something in the medic, who stood and walked over to stand next to the mech who had been his friend long before he had been his Prime. He placed his hand on the larger mech's hunched shoulder. "I've fixed plenty of injured valves of willing lovers who simply interfaced too enthusiastically. I know you did exactly as he wanted you to do. I saw that much when I scanned him. I'm angry that you lost yourself in an interrogation merge, not that his valve needed to be retooled. That is going to happen from time to time with any mecha who are as differently sized as the two of you are, no matter how careful you are."

Prime nodded mutely, but still did not look up. Ratchet vented and squeezed the other's shoulder tighter. "He is coded to be what you truly desire, Optimus. We can't change that without totally reformatting him, which would be kinder to you in the end considering the ethical pit this is putting you in. But Optimus, Mirage being what _you_ desire doesn't mean feeding the fantasies of the slaggers who came before you. What do you truly want for him and for yourself?"

"I want him to be free, Ratchet. I want him to be able to make his own choices."

"If that is what he sees in you, when you bond with him as your consort, that is what he'll be."


	5. Bonding

**Title:** Consort 5 - Bonding  
><strong>Author:<strong> Femme4jack  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Continuity:<strong> AU Multi-continuity Fusion Madness (in other words I'm picking and choosing stuff I like and totally making slag up)  
><strong>Characters &amp; Pairings:<strong> Optimus Prime x Mirage  
><strong>Summary:<strong>You remember when I said there would be eventual fluff? Well, this is it. I just can't stay in a dark space for long, and goodness, Prime is lucky to have Mirage (and I'm pretty sure the opposite is true as well).

**Notes:**For White Aster for her winning bid on the FandomAid Help Somalia Auction on livejournal. Thanks for the delicious prompt and for your generosity!

**Acknowledgments**: Gatekat's Mirage in our shared Dathana de Gray verse is the source of many of my ideas I've adapted about the kind of coding Mirage is dealing with. Certain aspects of TF valve anatomy in this chapter and especially in the next are influenced by Kookaburra's delicious story Warm My Spark (Mirage/Autobots) and used with her permission. I'm fairly certain I've seen the idea of valve calipers in variety of fics, but also seem to recall first seeing it in various yummy sticky fics by Antepathy and Ultharkitty. (Don't you love being part of a fandom where we get to make up multiple ways for the characters to make love and the possibilities of new means of getting it on are pretty much endless? I mean, in what other fandom do you get to give credit on interface anatomy ideas? Damn, I love our giant robots and the fandom they have spawned, budded, hatched, birthed, or otherwise created depending on your preferred metaphor.)

**Chapter Warnings:** Smut (mech/mech spark), explicit fantasies (mech/multi sticky), references prior valve injury, fluff that might border on cheese

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><p>Mirage ached.<p>

Not in his valve, where Prime's fervent claiming had been the source of such sweet, sweet pain. Ratchet had retooled the damaged calipers and smoothed out the jagged edges of the torn plating of his outer rim and interior nubs and grooves, while his own self-repair had done the rest. Despite Ratchet's expected fury, the damage was nothing compared to what he had recovered from on his own countless times after Megatron's attentions. Ratchet had ignored the fact that Mirage had _wanted_ the damage, or at least the claim it represented, erasing the previous claims of one who had failed to see what he was and would never allow him to become as close as he was meant to be.

Optimus might be kind and gentle at spark, but as a Prime, he had integrated warrior coding. Despite his best intentions, the warrior Prime needed to claim and possess, and Mirage knew it, perhaps better than Optimus did himself. He had felt how much it pained the part of Optimus that was still Orion, and knew he could ease that trauma and help Optimus understand what was happening in his own code and spark. Mirage, perhaps more than anyone else, understood the trials of living with layered and conflicting identities.

Mirage's own protocols were burning to complete what had begun, to bond with his Lord, and finally, _finally_ become something whole and stable rather than a mass of fragmented profiles all vying to serve different masters. But that pain was nothing compared to the ache of his spark.

He had never merged before, and he silently thanked Megatron for that small favor, despite the vorns of coding conflict it had created. Merging with Optimus, even if the intention was interrogation, had offered him a taste of the completion he thirsted for. For any other mech, the prospect of being interrogated by Prime would have been petrifying; it meant being utterly unpeeled, layer by layer, revealed and evaluated, but without the mutuality and shared vulnerability that came with a merge between normal sparks. But for Mirage, it was pure joy to surrender all he was to his Prime for judgment, to show how arduously he had worked to set himself free and belong to Optimus alone. Then, Mirage's frame had been decisively claimed by the one he fought so hard to belong to, but his spark had been left alone and bereft, touched but not completed. It was agony.

Prime had hidden little in their merge, and had shown Mirage far more than he had intended. It did not matter whether it was the consort coding or Mirage's spark (he could not tell the difference any longer); he had never wanted to fulfill his function more. He desperately longed to mold himself around his Prime, to delve deep into his Master's spark, and know exactly how to recreate himself into the perfect consort for his Lord. Yet he knew Optimus would resist taking what he craved; Prime feared himself and his own desires and was appalled by the coding that was intrinsic to everything Mirage was.

Megatron would not bond because he despised allowing himself to be known and vulnerable. He would not allow another to have that power over him. Optimus feared the opposite. He did not wish to have that power over another, did not trust himself with it. Mirage cared only about easing that fear and being a conduit by which his Prime would learn to be at home in his own spark. He would prevail. He had prevailed over his own tangled core protocols. He certainly was not going to let a little thing like Prime's misplaced fears stop him now.

He stood before the mirrored surface of the medbay washracks, finishing his preparations, bold and determined. He already knew Optimus prized these traits, and he flared his field with them like a mantle. He finished polishing his armor with special attention to his Autobot brand, at one time a mark of his deception, but now yet another priceless sign of the claim Optimus had on him.

"Ratchet," he said softly as he entered the main bay. "I am ready."

Mirage inwardly preened as he saw Ratchet quickly subdue his expression of frank admiration and desire. It felt right for others to envy Prime for what belonged to him alone. Of course, Optimus was generous. He might, in time, feel like sharing his consort with those closest to him. The Prime might enjoy watching his most trusted officers writhing in pleasure under Mirage's skilled care or plunging their own spikes into the consort's finely tooled, customized valve as a special thanks for their loyalty.

And after, Optimus would likely wish to reclaim his consort in front of the others. Mirage imagined his own unit's commander, visor darkened with desire, watching Prime's massive spike inching its way into Mirage's tight heat, stretching the fancy etching and scrollwork of his flexible metal rim.

Of course, in order to indulge such tastes without the accompanying guilt, Optimus would need to believe the desires to be Mirage's own, a way he could be good to his consort. Then Mirage could go about gleefully fulfilling Prime's every fantasy. He would find ways to give Optimus what he hungered for and strip away the shame, leaving nothing behind but the contentment of being perfectly taken care of in every way.

"Well, how do you feel?" Ratchet asked, sounding a bit awkward in his attempt to be kind rather than acerbic.

"Quite well, Ratchet. Thank you for doing such excellent work."

"I'd better not have to do it again," the medic grumbled.

_Oh, I most certainly hope you do,_ Mirage thought to himself. Some injuries were worth Ratchet's ire. He would simply need to find a way to keep Optimus from being the object of the CMO's temper when Prime's passion and impatience got the better of him.

* * *

><p>Optimus wondered if he had made an error in choosing the location for the meeting, and wondered also at his motive for said mistake. His office seemed too formal a setting to discuss this pit-spawned situation with his... with his potential bondmate. The casual meeting space in his own quarters seemed a more fitting and comfortable milieu. But that didn't change the fact that it was steps away from the portal to his berth.<p>

He looked around at the modest curved pod that made up the front room of his personal quarters. It was no different from that which his other officers had, save that it was sized slightly larger to accommodate his own frametype. Some used their extra room as an entertainment space or private office. Optimus used it as a meeting area for times when he wished to gather with his officers or visiting dignitaries for informal conversation.

But considering that every furnishing in the room became a surface upon which to contemplate pinning a lithe mech underneath him while he lost himself in the smooth planes, elegant curves and stunning angles of Mirage's frame, he wondered if he should have chosen his office. Then again, it wasn't like his office would be any better considering what Optimus could imagine Mirage gladly doing underneath (or on top) of his desk. In the burning maw that had replaced his processors, the large chair there easily metamorphosed into a throne where his consort could serve him in the most intimate of ways.

Optimus attempted to distract himself by activating three cubes and pondering what type of energon to serve in them. When supplies had not been so scarce, he had often stocked the subspace shelving with various grades of energon of several different vintages. It was one of the few privileges that he had not done away with. He had always enjoyed the simple act of sharing fuel with others, and even when his means had been modest, he had made a point to keep some higher grades in stock for members of his cohort and his friends. As it were, he still had a few cases of some of his favorites for very special occasions, (_or to turn over to Ratchet if there were an emergency need of a higher grade than what Medical had at the time_, he justified).

He settled on an aerial-formulated vintage of midgrade that was just a few joules shy of being a weak high grade, and added a few aromatic mineral shavings that complemented the brew and turned it a bright, glowing lavender. It was not a suggestive offering, but was something better than the standard grade he would have served for a typical gathering. He fought against his processor as it began suggesting creative means of serving the fuel to the object of so many of his ever more inexcusable thoughts.

Optimus vented and growled at himself to _stop_. For Mirage's sake, there was little choice other than bonding. It was the only thing that would resolve the conflict in the high forged mech's coding. This, unfortunately, gave Optimus easy excuses to allow his processors to run amok in inappropriate ways. But if bonding were the only answer to save a valuable Autobot from a complete reformat, then Optimus was determined to be as kind and _appropriate_ to Mirage as possible.

Had he only imagined that he heard even the wisest and most disciplined of his predecessors laughing at him from within the Matrix at the latter goal?

He didn't have time to contemplate that further as Ratchet pinged him from the corridor. Optimus visualized a series of ancient glyphs said to have been engraved on Prima's Star Saber: strength, courage, dignity, honor, wisdom, compassion, joy, and freedom. He found, to his amazement, that his spark calmed by a fraction as he signaled the portal to iris open.

Ratchet entered with his usual brusqueness, but Prime's attention was riveted on Mirage. He was as beautiful as Optimus could ever recalled seeing him, his field brimming with a confident determination that only served to make him that much more attractive. He entered with the same polished elegance he always wore so easily, but instead of formally kneeling as high-forged protocol called for, he simply bowed his head in an informal show of respect that Optimus much preferred. Optimus saw a ghost of smile play on Mirage's lips when he looked back up, and his optics met Prime's with a warmth and intensity that made his spark surge.

_Primus, who is this mech?_ Optimus wondered while giving his greeting to both. He invited them to sit and offered them their fuel.

Optimus sat in a chair across from Mirage and began to speak the words he had rehearsed, hardly even listening to himself as he intoned wise and thoughtful sentiments about the ethical dilemma Mirage's situation engendered, the actions he had deemed necessary to protect Mirage's House, and his own willingness to do whatever it took to bring the coding conflict to an end, provided that it was Mirage's spark and not merely his coding that compelled him to bond.

He thought he saw amusement flicker in Mirage's optics as he asked if there were any others Mirage might wish to bond with more than himself, who might be more suitable and caring partners, considering the damage that he had already done to Mirage as a culmination of his loss of control during the interrogation. The entire time, he could not help but to take in the perfection of Mirage's frame, tracing him with his optics the way his hands and glossa longed to memorize every angle, curve, node, and seam.

At some point during his speech, he became aware that Mirage was watching the movement of his own optics, and knew exactly what he was doing. The blue and white mech offered a small, but all-too-meaningful smile, and then Mirage took a sip from his cube and very deliberately licked the glowing fuel from his lips. Optimus's words stuttered.

He quickly took a drink from his own cube and looked away, trying to distract himself. He glanced at Ratchet who was watching the entire scene with optics that were entirely too bright and an expression that was one of the CMO's specialties: amusement and affection hiding underneath a practiced scowl.

::I can't say I blame you for how much you want him,:: Ratchet commed during the pause, his expression and frame giving no visible indication that he was transmitting. ::Remember, Optimus. What is it you really want right now? Not the Matrix, not your fantasies, but your spark.::

Optimus took another sip to cover his surprise as he examined the question and realized the answer. He didn't respond to the comm. But he suddenly sat up taller as he found clarity within his conflicting web of erotic fantasies and hungers.

Both he and Mirage knew that the words he spoke were formalities, what must be said to ease Prime's conscience about what they were going to do and what Mirage's coding would do as a result. Even so, he could hardly say what possessed him, because as his words continued to reverberate through the room, he opened a channel to Mirage rather than Ratchet and answered that all important question, ::I want to make love to you for an entire orn and make you feel like the most cherished mech in the history of Cybertron.::

This time it was Mirage's turn to stutter, a rasping sound coming from him as he accidentally took his fuel down the wrong intake. Optimus felt the high-forged mech's field flare from where he sat. Ratchet clearly felt it as well, if the look he gave were any indication.

Optimus found that his frame was rapidly heating. He cleared the static that had crept into his vocalizer in order to conclude as quickly as possible the words that were now crumbling underneath the weight of just how much he wanted the mech in front of him. "I will gladly bond with you, Mirage, in order to solve the difficulty with your coding. But I will not tie you to myself as a possession in the traditions of the Towers or the Primacy. You are free to be who you wish to be, including the company you keep, whether as friends or lovers, and to continue to serve in whatever capacity you wish to, SpecialOps or otherwise. You have no obligation toward me, and my only desire is that you be free to chose whatever personality matrix you find the most in line with the wishes of your own spark. I understand you cannot be rid of these protocols without a complete reformat, which you do not desire. But I hope that in explaining that I want only for you to be the mech _you_ wish to be, you will be free of some of the more compelling aspects of the consort code."

Mirage nodded dutifully, then responded quietly in his cultured tone, "I understand, Optimus."

The sound of his own designation, with no titles or honorifics attached, coming from Mirage's vocalizer was music to the Prime.

"I understand," Mirage said again, and suddenly stood and crossed the distance between them. Optimus felt desire surge so hard in him that his seams visibly crackled with charge as Mirage boldly climbed to kneel on his lap and placed both hands on his mask, demanding that it open. He did not even notice giving the command for it to retract. He was too busy groaning as Mirage pressed their lips together in a hungry, demanding kiss. ::I understand,:: Mirage continued by comm as he devoured his Prime's mouth and tangled their glossa together. ::Please, let me show you just how much I'm already enjoying becoming what you need. Let me show you that you have nothing to be afraid of... show you just how much I want you and have chosen you.::

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><p>Mirage felt the moment the surrender began. One moment, Optimus was still partially pulling himself back from the kiss, his frame tense as he tried to dam his own passion, but as Mirage continued to assure him through his comm that yes, he did indeed want and desire <em>his<em> Prime, that he _liked_ who he was becoming in response to the all too brief touch of their sparks, he felt Optimus relax and begin kissing him back with equal hunger. Mirage crooned in approval, and continued to assure him that there was no conflict between his spark and the coding that was even now weaving itself around his beloved's desires - Optimus's _true_ desires and not simply the dark hungers that he was bombarded with by the Matrix.

::What I will become for you will make you proud of your own spark and no longer fear what it needs, Optimus,:: Mirage promised, tracing the seam in Prime's chest with thin fingers that were able to dip in and caress the circuitry underneath the other plating. :: Let me show what I already _know_, what I already _see_, and let me see more. Don't be afraid.::

::I don't want to hurt you,:: Optimus commed in return even as his fingers caressed the finely shaped vents on Mirage's helm, his own kisses becoming hard and claiming, making Mirage arch and moan.

::You can't,:: Mirage transmitted glyphs that indicated humor and laughter at the preposterous idea since his mouth was to busy to vocalize the sound.

::I did,:: Optimus replied urgently, one hand still caressing Mirage's vents while the other ran down the elegant lines of Mirage's back plating and aft, reaching between slender thighs to cup the plating over his lover's valve protectively.

::You _didn't_. It was a pain and mark I wanted... I needed. Let me show you. Please, Optimus. Let me give you this. It makes me happy to give this to you.::

It was manipulative, Mirage knew. Part of a consort's gift was to manipulate in order to assure that his beloved Lord was taken care of. He had seen enough in Prime's spark already to know how much Optimus was motivated by giving others a chance at joy, even if it meant sacrificing his own. At the same time, all he said was completely true. He liked who he could feel himself becoming in response to reading Optimus's desires. The process of molding and shaping himself into someone who would bring Prime so much relief, help and pleasure was the source of Mirage's pure-sparked joy.

Mirage vaguely heard Ratchet leaving and issuing an order to the guard that any emergency should be directed first to Prowl and Jazz, and that Prime was under medical orders to rest for the next two orns at a minimum. Mirage laughed brightly and Optimus chuckled as they briefly broke apart and grinned at one another.

"I take it you are forgiven?" Mirage asked before leaning forward to mouth the components on his lover's neck, and felt a rush of exquisite joy in his spark that his coding had suddenly given him leave to call Optimus 'lover' rather than simply 'lord' or 'master', because it was what Optimus would want.

"So long as I take good care of you, yes," Optimus rumbled, and Mirage felt Prime's large hand tighten on his valve cover, finger tips beginning to delve along the edges.

"Hmm... I believe you mentioned something about making love to me for an entire orn. I think that would be a good start. I'm sure the medic would approve." Mirage grinned at the boldness his settling code was demanding. The look it elicited from Optimus confirmed the choice. "You can start by carrying me to that berth and claiming my spark. That would definitely make me feel like... how did you put it?"

"The most cherished mech in the history of Cybertron," Optimus said, his vocal resonance caressing Mirage right through his armor to the sensitive protoform below. "This... this boldness. It is the coding at work?" he asked, even as he stood, his hands supporting Mirage's far smaller mass. Mirage wrapped his arms around Prime's neck and his legs around his waist and vented in contentment as he was carried through the portal to the berth chamber.

"The beginning of it. Do you like?" Mirage purred coyly, knowing exactly how much Optimus liked it by the response he received from his field alone.

Optimus paused, simply holding him close at the edge of the berth. "I... very much Mirage. I hadn't expected it, but it is... it is perfect. The question is... do you? Like it? Is it you?"

Mirage smiled softly. "I want to become this for you, and yes, I like it. Very much. And of course it is me. I'm _your_ consort, Optimus. Let me show you what that means." Guided by the solidifying code, Mirage, unlocked his chestplates.

"Primus, I want you so much," Mirage heard his beloved murmur as he settled them on the berth. He watched Optimus kneel over him, straddling his thighs and leaning on one elbow. His other hand reaching for Mirage's casing. Mirage felt no need to flinch. This was not Megatron. Megatron had wanted him to flinch, to cry, to be completely shattered and broken as the warlord abused his casing and clawed at his spark. He had already disabled that profile, and its memories were but factual reports belonging to another mech.

Optimus, he knew, wanted something completely different, and the first touch along the edge of his chamber had him keening in vocal pleasure as he arched his back off of the padded berth and into the caress. Oh yes, Optimus wanted him vocal, in and out of the berth.

"You are so beautiful," Optimus said reverently, continuing to stroke the open edges of Mirage's casing and then dipping his fingers into the blue corona itself, which flared and twined around the large mech's fingers as though it could bond with his frame as well as his spark. Mirage lost all semblance of coherent thought, writhing in bliss as Optimus showed just how loving his battle scared hands could be as he stroked him toward overload.

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><p>Optimus's raw desire had settled momentarily into awe as he continued to reverently stroke Mirage's spark and casing, the sound of Mirage's straining fans, his heaving ventilations and cries a symphony of exquisite beauty. After all of the images he had been bombarded with, every fantasy of selfishly using Mirage for his own pleasure, he suddenly found in the stroking movements of his own hands what he truly wanted: to use his hands, that had known and committed so much violence, as instruments of love on the frame underneath him.<p>

Each stroke, each dip of his fingers into Mirage's spectacular coronal light and along the finely filigreed alloys and crystal of his lover's sensitive casing brought Optimus as much joy as it brought Mirage pleasure. If Mirage's coding demanded he give himself so complete to Optimus, Optimus would do nothing less for him.

When Mirage was hanging just at the cusp of overload, Optimus opened his own chest and initiated the bonding cycle in his own coding. Mirage's optics, which had been dim, brightened as he saw the swirling, massive multi-hued brilliance of a Prime spark poised over his own, tendrils reaching far beyond the confines of Optimus's chest. The first touch, tendril to tendril instantly plummeted the highly charged Mirage over the edge for his first overload, his spark flaring bright and flooding its energy directly into Prime's own swirling light. Optimus did not hesitate to push his spark further into surging light of Mirage's spasming spark and felt, along with exquisite release of spark energy, a brush of pure, unfiltered feelings and intimate knowledge.

Love... a love without conditions that was sweeter than anything Optimus had felt since long before bonding with the Matrix. Yearning... a desperate need to be claimed, to know he belonged fully to the one he was creating himself for. It suddenly became so easy to give Mirage exactly what he needed and wanted, in the face of the epiphany of their sparks touching this way. It was undeniably True that for Mirage, to finally fulfill his function was not a loss of self but rather the claiming of his own agency as a chaotic web of profiles knit themselves together into something beautiful and whole... something that was what Mirage wished to be... was meant to be.

Optimus suddenly relished giving in to Mirage's needs. He held himself just on the edge of a complete bonding merge as Mirage settled from his first overload, and then spoke, spark to spark, communicating feelings and truth in a manner unmodified by glyphs or audible words.

~You are mine. From this point on, you belong to me. But I also belong to you. You are claiming me as well.~

Optimus felt laughter in Mirage's spark, like the bursting of tiny bubbles along the blurring boundary of their individual selves. ~Of course! That has always been what this meant. You really didn't think I was claiming you as well?~

~I didn't understand... now I do. Mine... yours... ours~ and with that, Optimus plunged down and revealed himself fully to the one who would knit himself around whatever he revealed.

Their entire world became the merging energies in their chests, a fire of pure pleasure that did not consume them, but made them larger, into something more as their sparks melded together into something that had not been there before. As the bond solidified, and they lost any sense of where one ended and the other began, and images began to emerge. ~Let me show you what you want,~ one spark whispered to the other, or perhaps both whispered together because there was no longer any distinction. They saw...

_...refuge, sanctuary, tender care amidst the bitter sorrows and exhaustion of war..._

_...partner, lover, friend..._

_...one who would speak his mind, share his counsel, standing together as they sought wisdom and strength within the Matrix despite its darkness and the pain it brought..._

_...Fantasies and desires shared, games played for both of their pleasure in order to relax and escape... _

_...lovers who at times played the parts of Lord Prime and Consort Slave because it delighted them both rather than debasing either one..._

_...moments when one would, in his pain and need, claim the other harshly, and it would be sweet, desired pain that they shared, affirming that they belonged to one another and need not hide anything, even their darkness..._

_Yes,_ both sparks whispered as one. _Yes! This is who we are becoming, all of this, and so much more. This is what we want. Yes! My Love, my Bonded, my Prime, my Consort. Mine! Ours...Always!_

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><p>I'm on the home stretch on this story. One or two more chapters to go, mostly smut, but obviously leaving things open for future sequels. Thank you so much to everyone who takes the time to read and leave feedback. It truly helps me to keep the fires burning and complete a story, especially with how busy my life has suddenly become. Posting on a Sunday evening is usually bad news for reviews, but I've been working extra hard on this one - it has been one of the more difficult to write. So this is my blatant request that if you are reading and enjoying, to please let me know and help motivate me to finish this well.<em><br>_


	6. Tragedy and Reunion

**Title:** Consort 6 - Tragedy and Reunion  
><strong>Author:<strong> Femme4jack  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Continuity:<strong> AU Multi-continuity Fusion Madness (in other words I'm picking and choosing stuff I like and totally making slag up).  
><strong>Characters &amp; Pairings:<strong> Optimus Prime x Mirage, Jazz  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Tragedy interrupts Optimus and Mirage's bonding orn.

**Notes:** For White Aster for her winning bid on the FandomAid Help Somalia Auction on livejournal. Thanks for the delicious prompt and for your generosity!

**Acknowledgments**: See previous chapter

**Chapter Warnings:** Explicit smut (mech/mech sticky, oral).

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><p>Mirage came out of recharge curled up close in the space between Prime's arm and torso. The massive arm was extended over him protectively, and bent at the elbow so that Prime's large hand rested on the curve of Mirage's aft. His valve and portions of his frame ached deliciously from the thorough attention he had received the evening before in the midst of the repeated bonding merges. Their fields were intertwined, and a sweet pleasure was pulsing in his spark as he recognized another presence within it that belonged there as surely as he belonged at Prime's side.<p>

It was, quite simply, the nicest onlining Mirage could ever recall.

He automatically initiated a scan for errors and conflicts in the profiles currently running and on standby in his CPU, ready to recode or patch any issues that had arisen. But before he even had started the diagnostic, he stopped. There was no need; he was not running a profile. He felt a shiver of unbridled joy and excitement run through him as he realized he truly had a core personality matrix and was no longer an aching emptiness underneath a multitude of masks.

The profiles still existed, of course, within the unique decentralized extra processor that had been Alpha Trion's contribution to Consort (and SpecialOps) Engineering. His second (and by far more powerful) processor was nanite-based and not localized to a particular portion of his protoform. The cloud processor was difficult to damage and hack because the nanites it ran on all had secondary functions that masked their primary. Should a portion of it be lost, built in redundancies allowed nanites that were not part of the processor to be integrated into it by activating a kernel code that infected his entire system.

The cloud processor normally loaded his CPU with whatever profiles and memories he needed to run, and those, temporarily, became his core code. It was even able to make his central processor forget it was running a profile or that it had other profiles waiting in the wings. It could, quite literally, disappear without a trace until he needed it again, and was the reason he had been able to fool both Soundwave and Jazz for so long, considering the respective heads of Intelligence and Special Operations for both factions had debriefed him regularly and had never realized he had been running profiles that were hiding a much more complex reality.

It had fooled them, but somehow, even when Mirage had not been consciously aware, his spark had still felt the emptiness underneath. Now, however, his central processor was running a true "core" code based on the personality matrix that now resonated within the cloud itself, making it clear that the rest of the profiles were just that - tools to be used which were not _him_

He briefly pondered whether he should dump the profiles altogether, but quickly opted to disable them, keeping them available should he still need them for missions. This, in turn, made him realize his intention to eventually resume being a spy. It thrilled him to know that it was truly _his decision_, made by his own core code and spark. He enjoyed the challenge, and relished using his unique abilities to help his Lord and the Autobots.

Optimus would worry about him to be sure, but would also welcome him back from missions with a passion that made Mirage shiver to imagine. Optimus _wanted_ Mirage strong and independent, to make choices in line with his own desires. His sub function as a master spy was part of what made him valuable, and continuing his work in SpecialOps would assure Optimus that Mirage was his own mech. This, in turn, would allow him greater freedom in indulging Optimus without the accompanying guilt his bonded was prone to. And he wanted it. _He_ wanted it!

It was... intoxicating, realizing that he had desires that were his own, and that _his_ bonded truly wanted that for him. It was not just empty platitudes that Optimus had given. It was the truth that Mirage found in Prime's spark and allowed his code to weave itself into what he was becoming.

Mirage looked at his own frame, running his hand along his unique shape that blended soft curves and strong angles in such an alluring manner. Returning to espionage would require frame modifications as well as some form of internal modulator to change the way his spark resonance teeked. Should he ever captured, his chance of survival went from slim to none if he were recognized. He briefly mourned that it might mean the loss of some aspects of his elegant and beautiful consort frame. But at the very least, he needed thicker armor and to have a configuration that was not instantly recognizable as the Consort who had been gifted to Megatron by Lord Xeon. It was not like there were other frames that came close to resembling his. Though, perhaps with his cloud processor no longer so strained by coding conflicts, he could integrate a secondary frame configuration to be used only on missions.

But that was all a concern for another orn. He was in no hurry to leave Prime's side and return to being Jazz's agent. He and Optimus needed time to solidify their bond, their coding would compel them to merge and interface repeatedly. There were many decaorns, perhaps even vorns of care Prime needed lavished on him to make up for far too much time alone and untended. His primary function would _always_ be that of Consort, with Espionage as a secondary function when it was needed.

Just thinking about that primary function turned Mirage's attention to the massive warrior frame he was curled up against. Prime was still deep in recharge, and because his spark knew the one lying with him as bondmate, Mirage's own active systems were not triggering a premature online cycle. Taking advantage of that, Mirage began stroking the sensitive spaces in his lover's armor and slowly built the charge in the resting frame. When he could visibly see the static charge following his fingers, he slipped out of his sheltered spot and situated himself between his lover's thickly armored thighs. He searched around and found the manual latch, sliding away Prime's lower interface panel, and even as he heard the large mech's active systems powering up, Mirage started tracing the rim of Prime's valve with his glossa.

"Oh Primus," Optimus groaned as came fully online with a jerk of his hips. Mirage transmitted a sultry and suggestive glyph without removing his mouthplates from their current treat. He then reached under the thick thigh armor of Prime's thighs to place both hands directly on his hip joints and hold them firmly in place. He continued to trace the rim of Prime's valve, circling but never quite touching his highly sensitive anterior and posterior nodes. Then he quickly dipped his glossa inside to taste the flowing lubricants and lightly tease sensor-covered nubs.

"Oh Mirage, that feels wonderful," Optimus murmured, bending his knees to give his consort better access.

Mirage nibbled on the posterior node in response, which had Prime momentarily escape his hands and thrust up again. ::Be good,:: Mirage commed playfully. ::Stay still and I'll give you all the attention you need.:: He resumed his glossa's exploration, at times deliberately avoiding the nodes, and then suddenly stimulating them with probing licks or a gentle nip of his dente. He pushed two of his slender fingers inside and began tracing the outlines of the tightly shut grooves and the sensor nubs that had no signs wear. Prime's valve clearly had never received enough attention.

It was one of the many secrets Mirage had already uncovered in his lover's beautiful, strong spark. When Optimus had been Orion, his size and gentle dominance made him very desirable as the penetrative partner. For the most part, Optimus enjoyed (and preferred) that role. It came naturally to him, even more so with the dominant coding that came with being Prime. But Optimus also longed for the opposite, the pure indulgence of having the most sensor-laden portion of his frame pleasured and cared for, and Mirage had every inclination to take good care of his Lord.

Mirage could feel Prime having difficulty relaxing his calipers as he gently slid in a third and then a fourth digit and flared them, stroking the closed internal grooves to encourage them blossom open. When his fingers finally stroked the most sensitive of the nodes, hidden within the grooves, Prime's entire frame jerked in surprise ecstasy, making Mirage wonder if any before him had ever managed to coax those grooves to reveal the pleasure within them. The deep groans and growls were a reward all their own for his efforts. He began to slowly thrust his digits in and out of the opening valve while his glossa and mouth plates focused on the anterior node. Suddenly a large hand came down to grasp Mirage's helm and pulled him up Prime's large frame.

"Yes?" Mirage asked innocently as Prime's other hand fumbled at his consort's upper interface panel.

"Please... spike me," Optimus pleaded.

"Hmm...I'm not sure you phrased that in quite the proper tone, my Prime," Mirage responded coyly, hearkening back to prior evening and the humorous thoughts they had shared as their sparks simply rested against one another, coronas mingling in the aftermath of one of their many merges.

Optimus paused, as though convincing himself that it was truly allowable to indulge in the game his bonded was urging. Then Mirage saw his optics darken. "Spike me NOW, Consort!" Prime growled in a tone that could have made even the most trouble-making soldier instantly obey.

"Mmm, that's what I was looking for, my Lord," Mirage replied, sliding back his panel and sinking deep into his bonded in a single, graceful movement.

Prime's little used valve felt surprisingly tight, calipers clamping down on the invading pressure in a way that made their size difference matter very little, but not so much that the internal grooves were fully shut. Mirage moaned and rested his helm against Prime's torso, venting hard as his frame was engulfed with heat and charge. It felt like he was sliding into pure bliss. Once he was fully seated, his customized spike began making adjustments to match their every groove and nub, and then flared itself to stimulate the internal nodes in a pulsating rhythm.

"Slag yes!" Optimus growled, and Mirage's field pulsed proudly before he was crying out himself as he pulled back and thrust in again. He had not yet had an opportunity to test out this particular upgrade Alpha Trion had insisted on including. Lord Xeon had almost refused it, considering that the cost of this particular spike could have purchased a small mining colony, not to mention how unlikely the Emirate thought it would be for the Consort would be penetrating the Prime. But as Mirage began to move his pulsating spike in and out of Prime's clenching valve, the high forged mech felt like screaming his thanks to Primus that Alpha Trion had won that argument. It was as though they had been built for one another, everything matching up with a white hot perfection.

To have his bonded, his beloved Lord Prime, reduced to begging that he not stop, roaring glorious demands of harder and faster, was almost enough to push Mirage over the threshold even without the accompanying surges of charge racing along his entire sensor net from each node in his spike. As it were, only his hastily activated inhibitor kept his overload from erupting in ecstasy before Prime's own shattered the massive frame.

* * *

><p>It was only when both of them had settled that they noticed the pinging at the door and the base AI announcing that Jazz was requesting to enter.<p>

"Oh slag," Optimus groaned. He was half tempted to use the weight of his hands to urge Mirage to remain within him, but only a true emergency would have led to an interruption of their bonding orn. Even still, he made a protesting sound as Mirage pulled out of him, but centered himself and relaxed as his Consort began deftly cleaning off both of their frames. Before he could move himself, his bonded had gone through the portal that separated the berth chamber from the front room. Optimus followed him more slowly, entering the rounded chamber even as Mirage was ushering Jazz in. His lieutenant, covered in soot and pollutants from his travels, was obviously upset, his normally tightly reined field teeking blatantly with tangle of worry, anger, and sadness.

"Ah'm sorry t' interrupt," Jazz said, gesturing to the seats and collapsing on one himself. Optimus sat in his normal large chair, leaning forward with concern, while Mirage quickly activated a cube and filled it from the standard grade dispenser on the wall, placing it in the silver mech's waiting hand.

"You would not have done so unless it were truly needed," Optimus said. "What has happened."

"Ya'd better sit, Mirage," Jazz said. Mirage suddenly felt a need for proximity to his bonded, and with unspoken agreement from Optimus, he found himself on Prime's lap with broad arms circling him for their mutual comfort.

"There ain't no easy way t' say this, so Ah'm just gonna put it bluntly. Crystal City's gone. Slagged from the inside - some sort of massive explosion that set off a chain reaction. We hadn't even communicated with Mirage's House yet. Ah was on mah way with an Ops team t' take Xeon into custody and meet with the House's other leaders when we ran into the first of the refugees. The only thing we know is that somehow the city's Omega Sentinel got called away. Ah've sent mah team t' investigate and Prowl's coordinating rescue an' recovery."

* * *

><p>The next several decaorn were a whirlwind of activity. The explosions at Crystal City had been catastrophic, but had also been an act of sabotage, not an outright attack like the destruction of Kalis and Praxus. This left many more survivors, some of whom were horribly injured and on the brink of extinguishing. Optimus had led the rescue effort personally, both out of his own sense of obligation and to dispel the rumors already being circulated that the Autobots had been responsible. Mirage spent his orns directly assisting the refugees from the city who were pouring into Iacon. He also spent a great deal of time when he wasn't actively assisting them underneath his electro disruptor, attempting to glean clues from the survivors about the events leading to the city's destruction.<p>

Crystal City was the hub of learning and scientific progress, and home of many of the wealthiest and oldest Houses of the High Forged. If Iacon, as the political and religious center, were Cybertron's Spark, Crystal City was both processor and energon. Refugees from the city were furious that it had not been better protected, despite it having been assigned one of the few remaining Omega Sentinels and having its own dedicated enforcer cadre that was, in and of itself, a small army. No one seemed to recall that the city was also officially neutral, and had eschewed in the past offers for an Autobot base.

It soon became clear that just prior to the massive explosion, two unusual things had taken place. First, Crystal City's Omega Sentinel had been inexplicably called away, and then had been seen only briefly on the outskirts of the slagged city upon his return, only to disappear again. Second, the city's brilliant and famous architectural and engineering team had come to visit, though had been seen by relatively few and had left quickly.

Mirage's intelligence was transmitted to Nightbeat, who was investigating the explosion on site and believed that the catastrophe had been caused by deliberate sabotage of the city's own substantial defensive arrays. It was something that could have been accomplished by the Constructicon team, though why they would destroy what had been their crowning achievement was still a mystery.

Finally, one other telling clue emerged: The head of the Science Academy was located amid the damaged mecha, and when he came out of stasis, Emirate Perceptor had explained that just orns prior to the destruction, the governing board of the officially neutral body had made a secret decision to throw their support to the Autobots, hoping to swiftly end the war. Lord Xeon, who also sat on the board of the Academy, had protested vehemently.

When Xeon, too, was located, barely functioning, his last living experience had been an interrogation by Prime himself. Lord Xeon had sent word to Megatron of the Academy's defection, along with an elegantly worded reminder of all of the support he had given the Decepticon cause and the fact that through Megatron's Consort, they were kin. Megatron had duly informed him that he was sending a team of his own scientists to investigate the matter and make an appeal to the Academy, and had assured the Emirate that his loyalty would be well rewarded.

The Constructicons, who had not previously been known to have allied themselves with the Decepticons, had made a brief appeal on Megatron's behalf, been told that the Academy was still officially neutral, and then had apparently left the city. The explosions had begun only breems after they had been seen departing. One of the last things that Prime had learned from Xeon's spark was that the Emirate had funded a former Academy scientist named Shockwave, who had created a particularly pernicious viral obedience code Xeon had originally used for slaves within his own household and which Megatron was using to swell his numbers. It was not difficult to put the pieces together to see how the formerly peaceful Constructicons, famous for the creation of things of exquisite beauty, had turned to destruction.

* * *

><p>Optimus returned to Iacon only when the last of the wounded had been stabilized enough for transport, and then had spent many additional joors circulating among the refugees of the once proud city, offering his dignified compassion, soothing their anger, and assuring them that all that could be done to keep them safe and fueled within Iacon, would be. His own spark surged with pain and a sense of failure at the loss of both life and knowledge. He was the Prime, charged with the well being of every spark of Cybertron, and the planet was crumbling around him.<p>

On top of that was the near agony of separation from his newly bonded. Their bonding code compelled them to merge and interface with high frequency to strengthen the bond, and by the end of his time in Crystal City, his spark had been throbbing with pain. He could have had Mirage accompany him to Crystal City, but knew himself well enough to know that the code that compelled them to solidify their bond would have prevented both of them from doing the work they needed to do. He also could not risk Mirage being publicly known yet as the high Consort.

What he had not said was that he could not bear for Mirage see the visible sign of his own failure to protect his city and House.

He was not certain what to expect when he stumbled into his own quarters, in desperate and equal need of fuel, recharge, and to renew their bond. Their connection was too new for him to feel Mirage from a distance, and his lover had been stoic and practical after Jazz had given the news. He knew from their brief communications on highly encrypted bands that his bonded had thrown himself into helping the refugees and wounded, as had the other Autobots who had not been part of the rescue and recovery. But Optimus assumed Mirage was devastated by the loss of his city and House.

What he found when he entered was Mirage, polished to a gleaming perfection, waiting for him with a cube of fuel with a yellowish tint revealing the rare sulfur additives that promoted relaxation. Optimus collapsed into his chair, so low on energy that he downed the entire cube in one long draught. When he began to apologize, Mirage hushed him and led him to the washracks where he murmured for Optimus to sit on the bench, then turned on the hot solvent and removed a large brush from the detailing kit.

"Mirage you don't need..."

"Please, my Prime. I do need to. Let me take care of you."

Optimus could not find it in himself to object as Mirage began scrubbing him from top to bottom, removing the remnants of the slagged city from his frame. After finishing with his outer armor, he felt Mirage start with the finer brushes to scrub every crevice and seam and joint. The high grade and additives made Optimus feel almost as though he were floating, and time passed in a dream-like state that seemed to have little to do with his internal chronometer. He only became aware that he had slipped into a light recharge when he felt large plates of his outer armor being removed, and Mirage gently turning his attention to the soot that had managed to make itself deep into the complex structures of his internal frame.

Feeling flooded back into his frame and all notion of dreamily floating vanished as his sensor net surged under Mirage's perfect attention. His bonding code roared to life, demanding connection as charge raced through him in response to the touches along his protoform. In a seamless movement he was suddenly standing, lifting Mirage to kiss him hard against the wall as the hot solvent poured over both of them. Prime's own panel had already slid aside, his spike fully pressurized and sensor nodes aching for contact.

Static-filled moans and encouraging croons enflamed Optimus further, not to mention Mirage's hands continuing to stroke the exposed conduits and nodes of his internal frame. His spike pushed against what he assumed would still be Mirage's closed panel, only to find his bonded's valve open and already slick and ready for him.

He did not know where he found the control to stop himself from fully sinking in with single thrust or frenetically pistoning his bonded's valve like he had the first time he had claimed him in the brig. Especially with Mirage urging him on, begging him, and transmitting frantic glyphs of taking and claiming. But he locked his limbs with only the tip of his spike surrounded by the white-hot sheath, and only when he felt Mirage's calipers begin to relax their urgent grip did he begin to slowly slide himself, inch by delicious inch into his lover's valve that was throbbing with charge. Mirage's moans echoed in the racks, and each new sensor nub and groove Prime reached made Mirage jerk and cry out in ecstasy. Finally, Prime's spike hit the deepest nodes and Mirage keened in overload.

Once Mirage's calipers had relaxed from their clenching overload spasms, Optimus began to slowly move, building the charge once again. He felt Mirage's valve adjust in much the same way the his state-of-the-art spike was able to, matching divot for nub, groove for ridge, holding his spike in a tight, perfect embrace as the sensor input raced through Prime's entire frame. Slowly, carefully he increased the speed and power of his movements until he was finally taking his bonded's valve with the intensity Mirage was begging for in sharp, rapid thrusts accompanied by his own grunts of passion. His optics and audials were filled with buzzing static as he pulled all the way back and slammed in three times, hard enough to create flashes of phantom light in his optics before his spike erupted, flooding Mirage's already searing valve with liquid charge to send his bonded over the edge as well.

* * *

><p>Later, in their berth, after their sparks had renewed their claim on one another with the same intensity as their frames had earlier, they lay together, coronas still reaching out to intertwine in lazy caresses.<p>

"You want to ask me about what you felt in the merge," Mirage said, his tone warm and inviting.

"I... yes," Prime admitted. "I was surprised... though I think I may understand."

"You want to know why I'm not devastated by the loss of my House, my city, and why I'm not upset that Xeon is gone," Mirage continued patiently, the question echoing through their still caressing sparks. "Optimus, _you_ are my House and my Lord."

Mirage kissed him again, tenderly, without the earlier urgency, and then continued. "Everything that came before the first time we merged is like some sort of shadow functioning... like I was a talented drone that just happened to have a spark. I know I had sentience, because I was able to choose between my conflicted loyalty codes and rewrite the protocols until I could turn myself over to you. But the memories are like... factual reports. There is no emotion associated with any of it, save emptiness. For me, creation began when we merged the first time, and I fully onlined when we bonded. I mourn for the mecha of Crystal City the way I do for any others suffering in this war, but they are no more my kin and home than Megatron and Darkmount are. I feel relieved that my defection is not the reason for the attack, feel a sense of responsibility toward the survivors as fellow sentient mechs, but... there are no ties to them. There are no longer any ties to Xeon or Megatron either. Those loyalty codes are gone, forever. In a very real sense, you are my creator as well as my bonded."

There was really only one response possible in light of Mirage's words that were echoed by the flashes of emotion as their coronas continued to tangle. Optimus pulled his Consort closer so their sparks could sink into one another again and he could express his gratitude in the purest way possible.

* * *

><p>Thank you for all of the reviews! It really helped me to keep the momentum going to finish this chapter, because smut-heavy chapters are second only to battle action in terms of difficulty for me to write. Don't worry, this isn't quite the end. One chapter plus an epilogue, I think, and then possible future sequels to deal with the Nemesis plot. Please review if you enjoyed! I would love to hear your thoughts and ideas.<p> 


	7. Summons

**Title:** Consort 7 - Summons  
><strong>Author:<strong> Femme4jack  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Continuity:<strong> AU Multi-continuity Fusion Madness (in other words Iâ€™m picking and choosing stuff I like and totally making slag up).  
><strong>Characters &amp; Pairings:<strong> Optimus Prime x Mirage x Jazz  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Optimus arranges a surprise for his bonded.

**Chapter Warnings:** 5400+ words of totally self-indulgent consort!smut. Mech/mech/mech sticky smut, oral, PnP, spark, DOM/sub, PWP

**Notes:** For White Aster for her winning bid on the FandomAid Help Somalia Auction on livejournal. Thanks for the delicious prompt and for your generosity!

Cohorts have come up in my recent stories frequently, and in each story verse, there are minor variations. For the purpose of this story, _cohorts_ are a "family grouping" of mechs and femmes, usually sharing a similar function or who work together as a team. They are siblings, lovers, colleagues, creators, friends, and more. Not all members of a cohort are lovers, but they all share a cohort bond, which is different from the more intense kind of sparkbond Mirage and Optimus share. Optimus lost his original cohort bonds when he became Prime. High forged mecha like Mirage normally do not have cohorts, but rather a bond of loyalty and obedience to their house Lord.

If I didn't say it already, credit to the peerless Dwimordene for the verb and noun "teek", meaning the Cybertronian sense of electromagnetic fields, from her story "All That You Can't Leave Behind" and for originating the ideas about Cybertronian cohorts that I've expanded on in her story, "Bridges".

* * *

><p>Optimus stopped Jazz with a hand on his shoulder before he could leave the staff meeting. "Jazz, a word with you, please." Prime's field teeked strangely, almost as though he were embarrassed or reluctant to bring up whatever issue he needed to address with his lieutenant.<p>

"Sure thing, boss. What's goin' on?" Jazz hopped up to sit comfortably on Prime's desk as the large mech sat back down on the other side.

The silver mech watched as Optimus looked down at his hands like a newling, appearing uncertain whether he should continue. Then Prime looked up resolutely. "I have something to ask you of a very personal nature, Jazz, and it is quite awkward."

"Optimus, we've known each other for how long now? Ya know ya can ask me anything, and ya certainly know Ah don't embarrass easily or ever. So out with it. Whatcha got goin' on? You and Mirage doin' okay?"

Jazz knew the answer to that one before he even asked it. At the sound of his bonded's designation, Prime's field surged to leave no doubt that he was as completely wrapped around the High Consort as he'd ever been. Jazz found it far more endearing than he ever would admit, but was careful not to tease. The two were happy and very much in love, Jazz knew, and having Mirage had settled something in Prime. But there was still a fragility to it all despite their being sparkbonded.

Optimus, even after twenty vorns, struggled with bouts of guilt. In the rare moments when Prime confided with Jazz about the relationship, he admitted to being troubled that no matter how free his bonded was, they would never know who Mirage would have been had he been created without Consort coding. That Mirage was happy and made Optimus so did not assuage the lingering remorse.

For his part, Jazz had to admit that many binary pairs, at least those without the modulating influence of a cohort, would likely be more successful if one of the members had Consort protocols.

"We are doing very well," Optimus was saying, his faceplates moving in such a way as to betray the gentle smile under his ever-present mask. "You know how very good he is to me, Jazz. How much he... indulges me. I wish to do something for him. Something special, that will take him by surprise."

Jazz felt his internal temperature creeping upward at Prime's awkward admission. Just imagining the two together, and having had the opportunity to witness some of that indulgence when Mirage became especially bold about his 'duties', was enough to put Jazz in need of finding a willing partner or three to 'face for the entirety of his off duty shift.

"So whatcha have in mind? Ah can give ya some ideas, but Ah'm sure ya have a far better sense o' what would surprise 'im than Ah would."

Optimus shifted awkwardly, refusing to meet Jazz's visor for a moment. "Oh, I know precisely what he would enjoy, Jazz. It is the implementation of the plan that I require assistance with. I have long known that Mirage has certain fantasies that we have not indulged, ones he has avoided bringing to my attention because he fears I will consider them inappropriate and unseemly."

"And ya want mah help settin' up a certain scenario, I imagine. Hound might be a better bet if in involves a simulated location," Jazz said thoughtfully.

"The scenario is not location specific, Jazz," Optimus explained, his voice quiet and hesitant, but Jazz noted that the further Prime got into the explanation, the more arousal was leaking into the large mech's field. It was doing nothing to help his own sorry state.

"It does, however, involve...," Optimus paused, and then rushed to continue and complete his confession. "It involves Mirage being intimate with someone else... namely one of my most trusted officers... in front of me, and then, I would be intimate with him in front of that same officer."

_Oh..._

_OH!_

Jazz had to physically hold himself to the desk to avoid toppling off. Here he was the Commander of Special Operations and supposedly was aware or _everything_ going on, but Prime had just managed to take him completely by surprise.

"I'm sorry, Jazz," Optimus continued, completely misreading Jazz's expression. "I should not have brought it up. It was highly unprofessional..."

"Ah'll do it!" Jazz interrupted. "Primus almighty, Optimus, you actually thought Ah'd say no? Tell me when, where, and anything specific Ah need t' make it good for both of ya. An' for future reference, ya don't ever need t' worry 'bout bringin' up slag like this wit' me. Ah care for both of ya like cohort."

* * *

><p>Mirage was on monitor duty when one of the younger enlistees, currently assigned to Optimus as an administrative aid, arrived with a datapad. The Praxian handed it to him, sensor wings twitching with nervous excitement.<p>

"Thank you, Bluestreak," Mirage said reassuringly. "Does Prime require my response immediately?"

"Yes, sir," Bluestreak said. "I am to wait here and deliver your response personally. I'm not sure why he didn't comm you, but I assume it must be something really important if he didn't. It's encrypted... not that I looked at it, because I didn't! I would never do that, but he told me that it was and that you would have the key and could..."

"Thank you," Mirage gently cut the young mech off before he could really get started. "I am sure you handled your duty with the utmost of professionalism. Please allow me to read the message so you can relay my response as expeditiously as possible."

"Yes, sir, of course, sir," Bluestreak assured him before forcefully muting his vocalizer.

Mirage turned his attention to the datapad and entered the encryption key that he and his sparkmate only used for this particular purpose, feeling his calipers contract and lubricants beginning to slick his valve simply in anticipation of what he would read. The fact that Optimus had sent formal written instructions rather than casually comming him with an idea or reaching out emotionally through their bond indicated he was in a particular mood that boded well for things to come.

_The Lord Prime requires the services of his High Consort at 36:00 joors in the royal berth chamber._

Mirage hid his smile and had to fight squirming in his seat, considering just what those simple words did to him. Optimus was indeed in a playful mood, and the orn had just become very, _very_ interesting. Mirage plugged into the pad and entered his encrypted response.

_The High Consort functions only to serve and please his Lord Prime. It will be done._

With a nod, Mirage handed the datapad back to Bluestreak, who was brimming with excitement at the simple task of having been a messenger for his Prime. Mirage knew exactly why his bonded was keeping the Praxian close, and felt a surge of affection for Optimus who was watching so carefully over the refugee who had volunteered for the Autobots as soon as he had reached the minimum number of vorns.

"Thank you, Bluestreak. Please relay my response without delay," Mirage said, dismissing the young mech with a warm smile and an affectionate pulse of his own field.

"Yes, sir, right away, sir," Bluestreak said, a strong flare of arousal escaping in his own field before he literally scampered off with the datapad.

Mirage laughed softly. It seemed that yet another Autobot was infatuated with Prime's High Consort. He wondered if the mech had any idea of what kind of game he had just been involved in, and what the prize would be when both players won. He felt a charge racing through his systems, and knew he would be lucky if his panel held in all the lubrication he was sure to produce in anticipation of pleasing his lover. The end of his shift simply could not come quickly enough.

* * *

><p>35:47 joors found Mirage outside the entrance to the quarters he shared with his sparkmate. He checked himself a final time, pleased and satisfied with what he saw. Optimus had been sure to allow plenty of time between Mirage's scheduled end of shift and the official time of summons, so he'd called in a favor from Sunstreaker. He was now clean and polished to a level of perfection rarely seen on their busy base, and in addition, had been decorated with a multitude of highly stylized, artistic glyphs using a silver-toned paint the nicely complemented his natural blue and white.<p>

His own chromananites would absorb the additions in a few orns, but presently, his entire frame proclaimed just whom he belonged to. It would both scandalize and completely arouse his lover to know that others had seen him marked in the old way. At the very least, he was certain Red Alert had seen him on the monitors, and, of course, the twins were not known for muting their vocalizers.

Sideswipe had, as always, offered to take care of the obvious charge Mirage was struggling with during the preparations, but Mirage had laughed and said the delayed gratification was all part of the fun, much to the red mech's disappointment. Sunstreaker had simply growled that neither of them better scuff the newly polished finish or mar the glyphs. Mirage knew the gold twin had likely fragged his brother into the wall as soon as he'd left, though.

He quickly used a soft cloth to dust off any contaminants that might have settled on him during the walk. Next, he unsubspaced a finely crafted box, and pulled from it a delicate-looking silver net woven with rare minerals and crystals. He settled the helm ornamentation so that its top rested slightly above his optics and the rest covered his rounded helm and hung down the back. He schooled both his features and his field to that of reverent subservience and pinged for permission to enter, resolutely calming the trembling of his own plating.

The portal irised open and Mirage gracefully swept in, forcing himself to show no reaction to the completely unexpected second presence who was lounging on the chair next to an unmasked Optimus. Each mech held a cube of a rare vintage of high grade. Willing himself not to tremble or react in any visible way, Mirage moved himself to kneel next to the large chair that during their games functioned as Prime's throne, ready to do his master's bidding, pretending not to notice the hungry way both mechs had devoured his progress across the room.

Nothing, however, could hide the surge of gratitude and excitement that he sent across the bond, and the immense relief that came in response to Mirage's approval of the scenario. As if he had ever felt anything but, Mirage thought, with no small amount of humor.

Mirage remained completely silent and still as Optimus reached under the silver net to caress his helm and vents with casual possessiveness and continued to converse with Jazz as though he had never entered the room.

"You are a credit to our cause, Jazz," Optimus was saying. "Your latest operation will undoubtedly save hundreds, if not thousands of lives now that was know what Megatron's intentions are regarding the outer colonies, and has revealed a great weakness in his strategy which we can capitalize on."

"Ah just have excellent operatives, Optimus. Ya know that," Jazz waved his hand dismissively before tipping back his cube to finish the high grade.

At a quick signal from Prime, Mirage stood and took Jazz's cube to refill it. By all outward appearances, he was oblivious to the conversation, but he inwardly preened. The operation Optimus was referring to was the very one he had recently returned from, his intimate knowledge of Darkmount still a great asset even after twenty vorns of changes to the fortress.

"Indeed, the very best, Jazz," Optimus agreed. "But that is because you are the best. You have trained them, you are the one who ensures these missions are successful. Yet I have not... properly rewarded your skills and loyalty."

Mirage nearly spilled the priceless vintage he was pouring at the tone his bonded... _his Lord Prime,_ he corrected himself, used to say 'rewarded'. He carefully steadied himself. Granted, the punishment he would receive for spilling high grade was something he desired rather than dreaded. But Mirage wanted to play his part to the very best of his abilities, and took pride in being the ideal High Consort when they engaged in these games. It was, after all, his coded primary function. No matter how non-traditional Optimus insisted their relationship be on the average orn, Mirage thrilled at the chance to so perfectly serve his Lord.

"Servin' the Autobots is reward enough, Prime. Ya know that," Jazz said, taking the ornate cube from Mirage's hands when he presented it from a kneeling position.

"I'm afraid I must insist on more, Jazz," Optimus objected even as he reached out and grabbed Mirage's arm, pulling him to his feet and over to himself. Prime's hand began running freely over Mirage's panels in a blatantly molesting manner. "I have invited you here this cycle to give you the highest honor available to one of my commanders or emirates. Tonight, you may have my most prized Consort, in any way you wish that does not remove him from my service for repairs."

Before Jazz could respond, Optimus held up his hand for his commander to see the lubricants he had collected from the edges of Mirage's panel. He then pushed on Mirage's shoulders so he was in a kneeling position between Prime's legs, and nonchalantly presented the dripping fingers to Mirage's mouth.

A static-filled noise came from Jazz. Mirage could feel his commander watching, field surging with lust. The spy gave a hint of a smile, and then made a sensuous show of cleaning his own lubricants from each of his Lord's fingers.

"Ah'm not sure what t' say, Optimus," Jazz managed to choke out. "Ah'd be honored... but are ya sure? Ah'm not some high-forged mech, and he looks awfully delicate."

"It doesn't matter, Jazz. You have earned this. Come, we will enjoy him together, in my own berth. Show my Consort how the Kaon mechs do it. I promise, you will not be disappointed. His valve is the most finely tooled on Cybertron, as is his spike, if you wish. Tell me how you would like him. Bound and spread? Or perhaps you would prefer he service you first."

Mirage's engine gave an involuntary rev at Prime's words and tone, and he realized that his own hands, holding the much larger one he was cleaning, were visibly shaking. Oh Primus, he could feel Optimus's hunger through their bond. His lover was doing well hiding just how close he was to the edge, but Mirage knew that as hot as he was running, Optimus was running even hotter, and the game had barely begun. The vorns he had spent slowly helping his bonded relax into his fantasies, to indulge in them without shame, were all paying off, and he was reaping the benefits.

"Don't be shy, Jazz. How would you like him," Optimus pressed in a wicked tone, chuckling when nothing but static came from Jazz's vocalizer and the only other audible response was both of the saboteur's fans kicking in.

"If it pleases my Lord," Mirage began, well aware of the consequence of speaking without permission. Jazz clearly was ready to overload from visual and imaginative stimulation alone at this point, and needed some help settling his charge before they proceeded. Considering that his commander was a skilled infiltrator, Mirage would also later be teasing him relentlessly about falling out of character.

"I did not give you leave to speak, Consort," Optimus growled darkly.

"Forgive me, my Lord," Mirage said, pressing his helm to Prime's pedes.

"Speak Consort. Then I will decide how to punish your infraction," Optimus said in a tone that would have made some of the more sadistic Primes proud, at least if they had been unable to sense the utter love and affection through the bond as Mirage could.

Mirage occasionally wondered what it would have been like to have been Consort to a Prime like some of those Optimus had shared memories of, the ones who abused their Consorts simply out of their own sadism and cruelty. They were the same ones who still gave his beloved the recharge fluxes that Mirage had become so adept at soothing away. The Consort protocols would have coded him for one of them no differently than it had created him for Optimus, but he could not imagine actually _loving_ such a Master as he did his sparkmate. Would he have loved Megatron this way, if the warlord had bonded with him? He quickly dropped that line of processing, and returned to the task at hand.

"If it pleases my Lord, your prized officer is having a difficult time finding his words. Perhaps you could command my actions for a time, until he is relaxed enough to make his own desires known." Mirage's helm remained on Prime's pede, and he gave it a sweet and reverent kiss in apology for speaking out of turn.

"While your suggestion does not displease me, your presumption does, Mirage. Now go and please Jazz's valve until I tell you that you are finished," Optimus ordered, drawing an inarticulate curse from Jazz.

Mirage felt Optimus transmit a code that, as always, went straight past his firewalls along with another caress across their bond. "Jazz, I apologize for the High Consort's impertinence. I have activated his overload inhibitor to remind him of his place. I'm afraid I'm far too lenient with him much of the time. Now open your panel so he can make amends."

"Oh, Vector Sigma," Jazz whispered, spreading his legs wider and retracting his lower panel.

Mirage kissed Prime's pede again in acceptance of his punishment, then stood and bowed to Jazz before prostrating himself at his commander's pedes and kissing each one.

* * *

><p>Jazz felt utterly exposed, as though he were bare protoform under Mirage's kisses and skillfully moving hands. Where had his control gone? It had fled along with the profile he had set up for this encounter. Now he was simply a shivering mass of charged circuits that were being blown by the kisses and licks moving from his pedes up his lower leg struts along with the fingers wending their way under his plating and delving into the circuitry and conduits underneath.<p>

He'd been with pleasure mecha before, and some slagging good ones, at that. Frag, Firestar, who was one of his own operatives, was one of the best. But everything about Mirage was perfect in a way that even the most finely built and coded pleasure mech could not hope to match.

The way Mirage's field was now entangled with his was exquisite, making him feel utterly commanding and desirable even as he simply sat back and enjoyed. He could order Mirage to do anything with him, and the beautiful mech would do it in a way that made him feel as if there were no activity on all of Cybertron that the High Consort desired more. How did Optimus do anything other than interface all orn with the blue and white beauty?

He never wanted the sensation of Mirage slowly moving up his frame to end, yet also was not sure he could wait any longer for the probing glossa to reach his valve. He could feel Prime's optics, hungrily devouring the sight, and knew that the only thing that could make it better would be Prime's hands, rather than just his gaze, all over him. But Jazz did not dare hope for that. It had not been part of their agreed plans. Optimus still enforced a distance between them should Jazz ever have to do his duty as the secret High Protector. What his Prime failed to understand was that Jazz was already severely compromised in that regard. He already loved his Prime so much that doing that duty would be at the cost of his own spark.

Fortunately, Prime's Consort had balanced things so well for Optimus, that Jazz no longer worried Optimus was coming unhinged.

Jazz watched and shivered as Mirage continue to move along his upper leg struts as though it were some graceful, ritualistic temple dance, the movements an act of worship along his frame. Static arced with each lick, kiss and touch, its sharp scent mixing with that of the lubricants of the three mecha in the room. A quick glance revealed that Prime had his own spike wrapped in his hand, squeezing it in time with each movement of Mirage's glossa.

He threw his head back and cursed again, or perhaps it was a prayer because he never, ever wanted this orn to end.

Mirage's mouthplates were suddenly covering his valve, humming the refrain of an erotic Towers song, the vibrations of his voice tingling the sensors on his rim and within. He felt himself blossom open, and was rewarded with Mirage's glossa widening one of his interior grooves to probe the sensors within. Each lick and kiss sent a pulses along his sensor net. Two graceful fingers pushed in and caressed open his lower grooves even as Mirage's glossa continued exploring the sensors along the upper one. His calipers clenched and relaxed rhythmically against the wanted invasion.

He heard Optimus say something in a commanding tone, but the buzz of the charge was shorting out his audials. Suddenly he was being lifted and held against Prime's thick frame, enveloped in the strong, welcoming field. He could feel the heat and lubricants of Prime's massive, quivering spike trapped against his back struts. Prime's hands wrapped around his thighs and pulled his legs further apart, making room for Mirage to kneel on the floor between them. Then the High Consort bent so that his helm brushed the floor before his valve in ritual supplication, begging permission to enter a higher ranking Lord.

Jazz heard his own vocalizer whine over the buzz of his charge, and, after another rumbled command from Optimus, and Mirage was pushing the tip of his spike into Jazz's valve as Optimus squeezed and caressed the struts of his bent legs. He momentarily offlined his optics, focusing all of his attention on Mirage's spike stretching him, adjusting to him, matching shape and sensors for a perfect fit. For a moment, Mirage was completely still. Then the spike inside him pulsed and flared wider and instantly stimulated every sensor on the walls of his valve, making Jazz's entire frame freeze and then jerk with ecstasy. Again and again Mirage's spike flared and pulsated, sending screaming jolts of raw pleasure from the nodes of Jazz's valve through his entire frame.

Prime rumbled again, and then Mirage was kissing him deeply, glossa thrusting in and out of his mouth in imitation of what he was now doing with his spike. Jazz knew he would not last. Between the two fields enveloping and penetrating him, the hot frames crackling with charge in direct contact with his own, and the white-hot pleasure rushing from his valve through his core, to his very spark, Mirage only had to thrust in a dozen times before Jazz was swept away in an overload that felt endless.

* * *

><p>Jazz's second overload crashed through him on Prime's great berth, while thrusting into Mirage's flawless valve from behind as Mirage worshipped Prime's spike with hands and glossa. Afterwards, the heat that was pouring off Mirage's frame and the telltale wisps of smoke were sure signs that Optimus had not yet permitted his Consort to overload. Somehow, even as Mirage trembled and his field fluctuated dangerously, he still managed to tenderly clean Optimus with perfect reverence and care, before moving to Jazz to clean him in the same fashion<p>

Jazz knew that Mirage's charge had likely been building the entire day, ever since the moment Prime had sent the summons. And yet, still, Mirage waited, his entire frame shaking with need while he continued to serve. Jazz had interrogated his share of mecha over the vorns, and if he hadn't known just what it meant to Mirage to overload only at his Prime's command, he would have thought this treatment contended with some of the sessions he would rather forget. But nothing in Mirage's field or expression indicated pain, only complete rapture at fulfilling his duties and obeying Prime's commands.

"Mirage, fetch the restraints," Optimus ordered.

Mirage complied without a word, stumbling to a storage closet, falling to his knees when the charge visibly raced along his overclocked circuits, and going the rest of the distance on his knees, no longer able to stand. Restraints in his hands, he knelt by the berth, his arms stretched upward offering them to Prime, who took them, connecting them to various points on the berth and then commanding Mirage to place himself in the proper position, back arched over a thick, yet yielding cylinder placed at the center of the berth for that purpose, legs and knee joints spread wide, wrists together above his helm.

"Jazz, did you enjoy your reward?" Optimus asked in a deceptively casual tone as he hooked the restraints around Mirage's visible crackling, sparking joints.

"The only thing Ah'd enjoy more is feelin' him come with ya inside him, Prime," Jazz said with complete honesty.

"Mmmm, that sounds like a most pleasant idea. Mirage, show Jazz just what it feels like when I take what is mine," Optimus commanded even as he poised himself to claim his lover's frame.

A needy whine escaped Mirage's vocalizer as he extended his cables and opened his ports. Jazz hooked them up with trembling hands, before reaching for Prime's offered cables and completing the circuit between the three of them. The blast of Mirage's nearly crippling arousal was fiercely complemented by the hungry possessiveness that was Prime. Jazz moaned at the onslaught, swept into the dual sensation of both needs.

He lost track of himself as he watched and felt Prime rubbing the tip of his spike against Mirage's rim, the thick lubricants conducting the charge between them. Then, with no warning, Optimus claimed Mirage's valve in single, swift motion with complete assurance that no preparation was needed; Mirage was fully ready for him, belonged to him alone, and was shared only at Prime's whim and desire. He felt the welcome pain of the stretched walls and strained calipers, the enveloping, loving heat of a tightly embraced spike, a sense of completeness so sweet, so perfect that Jazz's spark ached with envy.

Mirage welcomed that envy as the affirmation it was of just how perfect he was for his Prime. Jazz found himself falling completely into Mirage's emotions and sensations as pain, pleasure, and a charge that was literally threatening to melt his circuits, rushed through him, wave upon wave with each powerful thrust. He found himself overcome by trust and wholeness and love as he gave everything he was to his Prime, waiting only for his beloved's signal to offer an overload that was bound to be so strong that any sane mech would be frightened. But for Mirage, it was just one more act of devotion.

"Mine!" Optimus growled into Mirage's neck, his thrusts making the entire berth shudder.

"Yes! Please! Yours, always yours," Mirage cried back, no longer playing a role, if he ever had been in the first place. It was so right, so perfect to be taken this way. His spark sang each time Prime buried himself deep in his valve, each time the burn rushed through him. Optimus roared his name, scalding fluid erupting into his valve as a simple signal released everything that had been held back like the bursting of a broken dam.

* * *

><p><em>Several joors later<em>

At some point during the night, Mirage forgot his designation. It might have been when Optimus finally allowed him to overload (the first of many the orn would bring). It might have been the second time Jazz had taken his valve, while Optimus held him tight and whispered through their bond how beautiful he was. Or it might have been when Optimus had not only reclaimed his valve again, but also claimed his spark with Jazz writhing on the berth, hardlined to both of them.

Or perhaps it was when they completely forgot the roles they had been playing and became a tangle of glossa, limbs, cables, spikes and valves that had led to the present moment, in which the mech who formerly knew his designation was Mirage found himself as the filling in a layered energon goodie between his bonded Lord Prime and his Commander.

Optimus was moving hard into him from behind, the momentum of which was burying his own spike deep into Jazz's tight valve, the small mech's size making for a scorching hot fit. Yet, he was only barely aware of what his own frame was doing. Between the hardlines and the open bond, none of them had any idea where one began and the others ended; they were simply a single three-bodied sensor net of crackling, sparking overclocked pleasure.

Smoke was literally swirling from their frames as relays were fried. One of them might have briefly thought about Ratchet's wrath, but it was quickly dismissed because even if this put them into stasis lock, it would have been worth it. At some unspoken signal, they all parted their chest plates, not enough to allow for a merge, but just enough to let their spark energies surge together when the shared overload crashed into all three and kept on crashing between them until they fell into a sweet nothingness that was still, somehow, shared.

* * *

><p>Mirage onlined to the sound of quiet voices and laughter coming from either side of him and the awareness of two fields and frames intertwined with his own in perfect comfort.<p>

"'Show mah Consort how the Kaon mechs do it?' Do ya have _any_ idea how hard it was for me not t' completely lose it when ya said that?'"

"I was merely trying to get into character, and, as I recall, you were losing it, but for completely different reasons. The lines that you were supposed to give were something other than static filled versions of single syllable pre-linguistic expletives."

"What can Ah say. He's jus' that pretty."

"I will not argue with you there. He is also online. Hello, my love. Are you well?"

"Mmmmmm," Mirage replied, stretching out sensuously to relieve his cramped conduits and cabling. "I feel perfect. Though I think I could feel even better."

"Unfortunately, Mirage, I have staff meeting in ten breems, and your duty shift begins shortly after that," Optimus said, wrapping his arms around both lovers even tighter and rolling on his back so both of their frames could rest atop his larger one.

Mirage and Jazz turned toward one another and exchanged glances. "Better check the schedule again, my Prime," Mirage said. "I think you'll find that staff meeting has been cancelled due to the Prime and his third in command being indisposed, and my commanding officer has changed my duty shifts and has given me a full orn off as a reward for my good work."

Optimus shook his head and chuckled. "And just how did you manage that? Prowl doesn't cancel staff meetings for anything other than an attack."

"It is the duty of the High Consort to anticipate the needs of his Lord and ensure he is getting adequate recharge and time for recreation," Mirage explained lightly. "I have my ways."

"And jus' what did ya have in mind for our free time, Mirage?" Jazz asked, his visor shining bright.

"Well, two things," Mirage said innocently. "First, I want to watch my bonded take that lovely valve of yours like you have been hoping he would for far longer than just the last orn. And then, we should discuss just what is preventing us from formalizing that we are a cohort. My coding assumes Prime will have other mates, and it would make both of you, and me, very happy to have a cohort bond. Before the High Protector was a political position, it was one of the Prime's consorts, after all."

The shock that surged through his lovers' fields was priceless. Mirage simply smirked as both of them worked through their various emotions without speaking. Jazz, because his vocalizer had again shorted out. Optimus, because he was chuckling too hard to speak.

"And to think mechs assume I am the dominant one in this relationship," Optimus finally said.

"When it comes to making sure you get what you need, I have no issue with taking command, my Prime," Mirage teased back.

* * *

><p><em>It is a simple fact of life that reviews are like high grade for muses. Thanks so much to everyone who takes the time to leave feedback.<em>


	8. Finale

**Title:** Consort 8 - Finale  
><strong>Author:<strong> Femme4jack  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Continuity:<strong> AU Multi-continuity Fusion Madness (in other words I'm picking and choosing stuff I like and totally making slag up. At this point, I can identify G1 Cartoon, Marvel Comics, IDW, Bayverse, Cybertron, and Dreamweave).  
><strong>Characters &amp; Pairings:<strong> Optimus Prime x Mirage x Jazz  
><strong>Summary:<strong> The Matrix again becomes a very frightening place, and then a very hot one.

**Warnings: Violence and gore, explicit smut (sticky, oral, spark), incredibly cheesy ending.**

**Notes:** For White Aster for her winning bid on the FandomAid Help Somalia Auction on livejournal. Thanks for the delicious prompt and for your generosity! This chapter is taking place thousands of vorns in the future.

* * *

><p>::Jazz, I need you in our quarters,:: Mirage commed his commander-lover, glyphs and modifiers indicating extreme urgency rather than the usual kind of innuendo that might accompany such an invitation.<p>

::On my way,:: Jazz said immediately, dropping everything he was working on and transforming to make the trip through the corridors faster.

* * *

><p><em>Optimus somehow found the strength to activate the failing hydraulics for one last mighty slice at his opponent, his blade sheering through armor with a spray of glowing fluids, but glancing off the chamber he meant to breach. The momentum made the weakened Prime stagger and fall to the ground.<em>

_ "You will not have it! The Matrix does not belong to you, Megatron!" Prime could hear weary desperation replacing the resolve in his voice._

_"That is where you are wrong, Optimus," Megatron said casually, as if he didn't have thick armor plates hanging loosely from his chest and his chamber exposed. "It belongs to the strongest, the best of us all. The one who can truly protect this world. Not some over-armed pacifist who cannot even hold his own property." Megatron deliberately glanced at the blue and white mech with the Decepticon brand proudly displayed on his chest. "When the real threat comes to this world, who do you think they will want protecting them? You and your pathetic followers? Or the mechs who were built for war and truly know how to wage it?" _

_"There won't be any left to protect, Megatron. You will have destroyed them. You will protect a dead husk that was once a living world." Optimus' voice was almost nothing but static._

_Megatron only response was to sneer and launch himself, his fusion canon blasting directly at Prime's damaged chest. Prime only managed to raise his arm before Megatron's claws connected with the same spot, just above his spark. _

_The fact that Optimus's blade was now lodged within Megatron's own chest, just to the side of his spark chamber, simply made the warlord laugh. With both hands on it, he twisted his torso, and the blade broke free from Prime's arm. It was pulled out in a spray of sparks and plasma, and thrown aside where it, like the ion blaster before it, was picked up and subspaced by Megatron's consort and lover who watched the scene with a coldly elegant serenity._

_Megatron laughed again, barreling Optimus into the ground, ripping his chestplates apart to gain his prize. Optimus could feel systems slipping offline, his HUD pinging him frantically with errors and warnings as energon poured freely from a multitude of injuries that would never be repaired. He ignored the warnings, forcefully disabling the protocols that would take him into stasis, using the last reserves of strength in his own guttering spark to tear into Megatron's wounded chest even as Megatron continued tearing into his own._

_"It will reject you, Megatron," Optimus managed to cry, his hands trembling as they squeezed on the warlord's casing. It was of no use. He not longer had the strength to crush the fiercely burning spark within._

_"That is where you are wrong, Orion. It has already rejected you!" Megatron cried in triumph as he hands reached the Matrix, brutally pulling it free._

_Heedless of his own injuries, Megatron gave a hideous laugh, standing and holding the Matrix over his head. "Yes! YES! I am both Prime and Protector! And you are nothing! Mirage, dispose of him."_

_Optimus could only watch in horror as Megatron plunged the Matrix in his own wounded chest, and it sank and melded into him as though it did truly belong there. The warlord did not even scream as the metamorphosis began, but instead seemed to revel in the pain. "Under me, Cybertron will finally be as great as it was intended to be!" he cried, and then collapsed as the process truly got underway._

_Optimus, optic feed already darkened, dimly teeked the familiar yet horrifyingly wrong field of his lover standing directly over him, and felt the tip of what must have been his own ion blaster touching his exposed wrecked chamber._

_"Mirage, please" he whispered. Whether to spare him, or end it quickly, he was not certain_

_"You never were worthy," the high forged mech said coldly, field flooded with loathing. "This was inevitable. Trion gave it to you only to give Megatron something to test himself against. A pitiful test, as it turned out."_

_Whatever Orion might have said was swallowed in a blinding flash of light and pain of his own spark exploding in the blast from his own weapon._

* * *

><p>Jazz overrode the lock and burst into Prime's quarters. Unlike the larger ones in Iacon, those aboard the Ark were spartan, not much more than a berth. It was on that berth that Optimus was writhing and bellowing, ripping out the cables as soon as Mirage could seat them in his ports.<p>

"I can't stop it, Jazz. He's never resisted me like this before!" Mirage was no longer his usual, serene self. Suddenly Optimus sat up with a roar, and lunged at his sparkmate, picking him up, tearing one arm from the beautiful frame before brutally throwing him against the wall next to the doorway where Jazz stood. Mirage collapsed in a heap on the floor.

"Optimus! STOP THIS!" Jazz cried even as the databurst he sent ripped past Prime's firewalls, just as it had been designed to. Suddenly Optimus collapsed on his side precariously on top of his Consort's legs and lower torso, his motor relays disabled by the viral code. Jazz somehow found the strength to roll Prime's massive frame off of his Consort. Mirage's optics were fritzing with pain. "Oh Primus, Mirage," Jazz said, reaching to manually clamp the flow of energon from sparking relays where his lover's arm had been.

"He's still fluxing, Jazz. Please... have to hardline us."

"Slag no, Mirage! He could kill ya that way just as easily. Ratchet'll figure out a way to stop this."

"He can't stop it, Jazz. Not when he's in that deep. There isn't time for this. Something's going wrong with the Matrix. You know the fluxes are getting worse. Something has been trying to hurt or destroy him ever since we entered the Benzuli Expanse."

"Then we have Ratchet take the pit-spawned piece of scrap out of him! Until we figure out what is wrong with it. Ya ain't interfacin' with him when he's already tried t' slag ya."

"Taking it out could kill him, too, when he is merged with it like this. Fine. I won't hardline. I'll merge. He'll know me in a merge and the bond will protect me. Don't you dare comm Ratchet. You know he won't let me do what has to be done!"

"Which is exactly why I should comm 'im!" Jazz snapped.

"You can hardline with me, monitor and pull me out if it becomes obvious he is trying to hurt me. But we've got to help him, Jazz." Mirage's vocalizations had taken on a frantic quality. He could feel Prime suffering through their bond, feel the phantom agony of whatever was happening to him as he fluxed. They could put him in stasis, but his spark would still be active, burning in unspeakable pain

"Slag it, Mirage! There's more t' ya than just being his Consort. And he'd be the first one t' say that. He'd never forgive me if Ah let somethin' happen' t' ya."

"Primus forgive us both if we let something happen to him when we could have stopped it," Mirage reasoned passionately in response. "I don't care what it costs me. This is why I'm here, Jazz." Mirage reached out plaintively through the weaker cohort bond he had with his Commander.

Jazz's visor flared in protest to the words, but Mirage could feel his resignation and acceptance. Jazz said nothing as he used his Protector codes to initiate the opening of Prime's chest plating and chamber, extending one of his own cables to Mirage, who resolutely plugged it in to his cephalic port.

"Ah actually commed Ratchet the moment he ripped out yer arm, Mirage. He was in surgery, but he is finishin'. Ya'd better hurry." Mirage quickly nodded, climbing onto his lover's massive form, managing to somehow look elegant and graceful while doing so, despite his dented frame and missing arm. Below him, Prime's huge spark swirled and spun in obvious turmoil, but it knew Mirage, coronal tendrils reaching for him and pulling him in like a massive gravity well he was.

* * *

><p><em>How many times had he extinguished here? How many times had the Matrix been ripped from his chest? And how many others had he desecrated, brutally ripping the artifact from their still-living corpses?<em>

_Now someone was trying to access his systems, shut down his defenses. Someone he should trust, but there was no one whom he could trust in the Pit. Even the most benevolent, the wisest and most compassionate Primes had become monsters. A monster like he was._

_ He roared and sprang at his next foe, only to have him crumple immediately underneath him. That was not right. They always fought back. Always, it was a struggle to exist, to live, to possess and be possessed by the Matrix._

_But he had no time to consider it. More foes were coming at him, red, green, and gold optics closing in on him with predatory intent. He felt a surge of focused violence in his spark, the ancient warrior Primes' kenetic memories activating in his frame as he prepared for battle._

_But just as suddenly, it all faded, and his writhing spark was frantically reaching for something. Something that was like immersing himself in cool solvent, liquid calm submerging his systems as the steam of his rage hissed and dispersed, leaving him connected. CONNECTED. No longer alone in his agony. _

_He knew the frame he wore in this place was not real. Nonetheless, he reached and pulled his Consort, his beloved, to himself, subtle transformation sequences allowing their armor to meld together in an elegant geometry of long time lovers even as his spike pushed into a slick, willing embrace. Somehow, in this place, glossa, sparks, spikes and valves could all meet at once. There were no laws of physics and size. All of the rage transmuted into desire and love as they possessed each other and became one._

* * *

><p>"You will repair me, and then you will online him in my presence so I can immediately merge with him should he be unstable again. You will not utter or transmit a single glyph to anyone, including him, about what he did." Mirage's tone was ice cold. He was done arguing with Ratchet. There was no one who knew Prime's spark and his trials better than he did himself. Optimus would not be burdened with the knowledge of the violence he had done when under the thrall of a tainted Matrix. Mirage would delete his own memories, if he had to, to keep his bonded from finding out.<p>

"Who the frag do you think you are, ordering me what to do in my own Medbay!" Ratchet snarled.

"I am the High Consort. If the Prime is incapacitated, I speak for him, unless he is relieved of duty by the Lord High Protector. You know the chances of that happening, while Prime still functions and I can attest to his sanity. I am not capable of giving an order that would be contrary what I know of Prime's spark, other than to save it."

"Don't quote me that political slag. We haven't even had a Council for over two thousand vorns! You can't pull rank on me here, Mirage. I am keeping Prime in stasis until I know what the problem is with his processors. His spark could snuff yours in an astrosecond if you merge and he becomes violent again. I am not risking that."

"Then you are risking not only the life of your Prime, but the lives of every mech on this ship, and likely many more. There is something going on in the Matrix that is bigger than all of us, and it has been growing ever since we embarked on this mission. This isn't something you can fix, Ratchet, and stasis won't keep Prime from batting whatever is sickening the Matrix."

"Mirage, the Matrix had been taking Optimus to the Pit and back since long before he bonded with you..." Ratchet began.

"And I've been helping him regain his peace ever since. This is different, Ratchet. He, and perhaps the Matrix itself, are under attack. I have to help him. I know I am supposed to do this. Don't ask me how. It is something even deeper than the Consort protocols."

* * *

><p><em>He was defeated, but not this time by another mech. Instead, a thick fog spread from horizon to horizon, and was now advancing on him, traveling toward him from the farthest reaches of Universe with a single minded intent of consuming him... consuming all. Tendrils of it made their way into this frame, sinking into every empty space, twining around every joint and gear. He tried to grasp at it, to push it away from himself, but his hands passed through it like the fog it was. That did not keep it from tearing away his frame until all that was left was his spark and the Matrix.<em>

_Yet, just as the shadow was poised to penetrate his spark, it suddenly froze, then dissipated, as though blown away by a fierce stellar wind, leaving behind a perfect stillness as his frame began, once again, knitting itself back together for whatever strange battle would come next._

_Later, whether it was kliks or vorns, he did not know, there were long, narrow fingers tracing the rim of his valve, slipping in to collect the sudden rush of lubricants, then tracing circles and complex patterns on his exterior nodes with just the perfect amount of pressure. Another hand circled the thick base of his spike, unable to wrap fully around it. A kiss was placed on the tip, glossa narrowing and darting through the diaphram into the pressure tubing to tease the nodes within._

_"Mirage," Optimus moaned, the tone both prayer and benediction._

_He felt his lover's mouthplates smile against him, before his tip was being enveloped in their loving-tender care. Though his logic processors knew neither of them were truly embodied in this place, he allowed himself to sink fully into the perfection of physicality. Throbbing, electric pulses traveled from his spike along his spinal strut to his spark, which compressed before it surged, rushing the shivers of pleasure outward through his systems. He spread his bent knees wider, tilting his hips encouragingly for the lover kneeling between his thighs, and then gave a low, satisfied groan as Mirage's spike slid into him even as his own spike thrust as deeply into his lover's intake as it could go. Primus, the mech took flexibility to a whole new art form._

_He lost himself in sensation, in the love and devotion expressed with every thrust, lick, and squeeze. He could feel the satisfaction in his beloved's spark as he let go and allowed himself to be perfectly cared for as only Mirage could. Mirage enveloped him, not just with skilled hands and talented mouth, but with the love surging through his fields, a love which penetrated him each time his beloved thrust into his calipers' embrace. The ecstasy of overload, when it took him, began neither in his throbbing spike or clenching valve, but deep in his spark, before radiating out to encompass his entire frame, and his bonded's as well._

_There were no chronometers. He had no knowledge of how much time passed as their frames melted away leaving behind two sparks, fully intertwined and enmeshed in one another. In this place in between and encompassing every dimension, they contained one another. Mirage was fully within him and he was fully within Mirage, no boundaries between the very core of their being. He had never been so at peace within the Matrix, and wondered if he had, indeed, extinguished._

_~This is the Matrix as it was meant to feel,~ Mirage whispered within him, a sense of ancient wisdom washing through his spark. Optimus did not ask how it was that Mirage should know such a thing. He did not need to. He could feel that it was simply right that Mirage should know._

_Just as he suddenly knew that others were approaching, and that they were no longer alone. But unlike all his most recent experiences in this place beyond the dimensions, Optimus no longer felt a need to fight or battle. Something had shifted. The attention of the growing malevolent force within the Matrix was no longer upon him._

_He became aware of a multitude of mechs surrounding them. Hundreds... thousands of other Primes. Some looked very much as he did. Others did not. A flame patterned mech in oranges, yellows and reds turned to him, recognition and longing written in his optics and pulsing in his field. Looking through the crowd, he could see many other versions of this same mech, as well as hundreds of Megatrons, and a scattering of others he could not identify. Was that Prowl in the far corner, towering and transformed by the Matrix? Ironhide? Bumblebee? Several versions of Starscream were all looking with scorn on the grounders around him. Was that Sunstreaker, bright and mighty, with his twin next to him covered in the ancient glyphs of the Lord High Protector? Was that tiny creature that radiated the energy of the Allspark truly an organic Prime?_

_Many of them had consorts, lovers, even entire cohorts with them. Over a hundred versions of Mirage registered on his sensors. Various versions of an energon-colored femme were an even more a common sight. Ariel, the Matrix whispered, now Elita-1. Multiple versions of Jazz moved around their Primes with boundless energy. There was a Dion who had been rebuilt into Ironhide, and another into Ultra Magnus. At least one Prime, in his own colors, had another organic with him, the tiny, fragile being cradled protectively to his chest, yet obviously giving him strength for whatever trial they were about to face. Yet another Prime was lying surrounded by hundreds of other Autobots, all of them connected in a maze cables. It looked... deliciously tempting._

_Before he or Mirage could act on that particular temptation (though both filed the image away for future reference) every optic was drawn to a shifting of colors and energies which resolved itself into a star-filled cloak. Without understanding why he did so, Optimus pulled Mirage closer to himself as protective and possessive energies spun in his spark._

_**You must listen to me,** an ancient voice spoke in his own spark._

_"And give me one reason why I should not destroy you," one of the Megatrons said with a sneer._

_"Because you have more important concerns, Calamitus Prime. If you wish to have an empire to continue to rule, Nemesis Prime must be stopped. _

_A hand waved out of that cloak, and suddenly the vocalizers of all of those who would argue and posture were muted. Then, the remainder of an ancient Prime stepped out of the cloak, which now flowed behind him like the swirl of a stellar nursery. His figure was blurred, as though he was constantly in motion, or perhaps existing in many places at once._

_**Several of the universes in which I once walked are already gone. If you do not heed me, yours will be lost as well, and everything you have fought for will be consumed, never to be reforged. All of you have been grappling with powers within the Matrix which are trying to destroy you. Some of you have struggled with this for thousands of vorns. Others have only recently begun to encounter the darkness that has seeped within what is meant to strengthen you.**_

_**A champion is even now fighting the one who bridged the chasm that should never have been crossed, attempting to destroy him and close the portal so that Nemesis and those who follow him can no longer expand into the living realms. But he cannot do so alone. He must have help from the remainder of the Primes, and all those who love and strengthen them.**_

_An image appeared in the molecular cloud of the ancient Prime's cloak. Megatron, clearly now a Prime, was fiercely engaged with the familiar, yet distorted and mutated form of Nova Prime. Another mech, blue and white, was merged to Megatron's frame like a symbiont, and somehow Optimus knew that this version of Mirage was strengthening Megatron's systems and spark with his own, and would extinguish doing so before the battle was over._

_The Prime who resembled Prowl stepped forward and asked "What must we do?"_

_**Something easy for some of you, and particularly difficult for others,** the ancient Prime began, and then explained to them how they would strengthen the one Matrix that was every Matrix, and aid the Champion who was fighting their Nemesis._

_Optimus looked at MIrage and they smiled at one another. This was, indeed, quite easy for them. He pulled his bonded into a passionate kiss, and then the two went in search of others who were without the comfort of consort, lover or cohort, to include them in a love which was far to large not to be shared._

* * *

><p><strong>Epilogue<strong>

In a secret lab near the center of his planet, Alpha Trion was tinkering away at his latest project when he paused, and turned toward the entrance in expectation. "Well, you certainly surprised me," he said when the door slid open. "I thought my Optimus was the one who would face Nova. Didn't you even tell him that was his fate?"

Vector Prime stepped into the lab and rummaged through his fellow meddler's cabinets for a cube of a high grade. "Ah, A3, sometimes I even deceive myself with the webs I weave. I made myself believe he would be, but your Optimus was simply the bait, a distraction who bore the brunt of Nemesis Prime's cruelty and manipulation through the Matrix. Nova believed that if he weakened the Champion enough, he would have an easy time of it when they faced one another in the physical realm. But unfortunately for him..."

"He was weakening the wrong Champion," the ancient engineer and former Lord High Protector concluded.

"Exactly," Vector said, sipping his high grade, his armor giving a satisfied shiver as the pleasant charge rushed through him.

"So Megatron was actually the true champion?" Alpha Trion asked, sitting next to his partner-in-meddling with his own cube. "I must admit, it makes me feel... rather disturbed to think of that one as any sort of hero, no matter the universe."

"Champions are not always kind or noble I told Optimus that once, though he forgot. The Universe where Nemesis was defeated is very similar to this one, save that Megatron actually bonded with Mirage when he was offered to him. Soon after, Megatron ripped the Matrix from Optimus' chest, and Mirage extinguished him with his own blaster. Calamitus Prime was a cruel dictator, and Mirage was the sadistic power behind the throne, quietly feared even more than the Prime. They expanded the Empire through many galaxies and crushed any who opposed them. Nemesis thought that Calamitus would join him, but Megatron was not interested in anyone ruling the Universe save himself."

"I take it neither the Champion nor Consort survived their wounds?" Alpha Trion asked.

"And it is probably a good thing for that universe that they didn't. Those two could easily have done as much damage to it as Nemesis."

Alpha Trion sat in silence, mulling that over, when suddenly his optics lit brighter. "You didn't deceive yourself. You intended the Champion to be Optimus all along, and then, at the last minute, you somehow intervened and had this other Universe be the one where the battle was waged."

"I will neither confirm nor deny that, my dear A3," Vector said smoothly. "Even I do not know. I am as good at manipulating my own memories as I am at manipulating those of others. What I can tell you is that over the vorns, I have become far too fond of this Optimus and this Mirage. So many versions of Optimus suffer so much, are far too alone, and in the end, must sacrifice themselves in agonizing ways. This one has all but defeated Megatron, has a peaceful world where mecha have enough energon and the freedom for flourish, a love worthy of the great poets. I must admit that I am pleased that at least one Optimus will get his... what do the humans in those universes call it... happily ever after? The others will find that a comfort when they return to the Matrix."

Alpha Trion gave a delighted laugh. "You are a soft spark!" he exclaimed, crossing over to the ancient Prime and pulling him into a kiss.

"Mmmm" Vector hummed in agreement. "For a manipulative old glitch," he agreed.

* * *

><p><strong>Additional Notes:<strong> I had this ending envisioned as a possibility ever since writing the chapter where Vector Prime originally appears. The further I got into the story, the more the muses insisted on this. I'm still not sure what I think, but went with it, as cheesy as it felt. I do really believe that love conquers all.

I want to mention that among the various Primes Optimus sees in the Matrix in that final scene, there are nods to the lovely universes created by some of my favorite authors who inspire me on a daily basis. I wish I could have included more in the scene. Among them were the Prime of Tainry's truly epic Borealis (who is the most poly-loving mech-pile creating Prime in any Universe); Sunstreaker and Sideswipe as the future Prime and Lord High Protector from Saesama's Astrum Ortus, an AU of her Glances in the Spark series; Merfilly's delicious and creative Walk a Different Road series in which Mikaela is a consort to Optimus *shivers*; Taralynden's Primus Blessed in which Prowl, in one node of the multiverse, becomes the Prime; and last, but not least, Sam as the human Prime from Sakon76's fabulous Simulacra-verse

Thank you so much to everyone who read, and especially to those who took the time to leave feedback! That kind of interaction is a precious and wonderful thing, and really keeps me going when finding the words is a struggle (which it nearly always is for me).


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